| 2006 Race Reports |
April 30, 2006
Park Hills, Missouri
Leadbelt National Enduro
4th of 9 in Vet A
Tough races mean different things to different people. The 2006 Leadbelt National
Enduro was muddy, but not the muddiest conditions I've ever experienced. The
weather turned nasty and the skies unloaded in the afternoon, but I've ridden in
heavier rains. Even the hail wasn't the most painful I've ever endured (Polo, Missouri
in 2004 takes those honors). But overall, I would rank the ’06 Leadbelt as the
toughest race I've ever finished, for one simple reason: it was longest continuous
amount of time I've ever spent on a motorcycle, in bad weather, on a muddy course,
with a severely jammed thumb, no brake pads at the halfway point and a broken
odometer. Pretty simple, really.
Leading up to race weekend, Park Hills received a couple inches of rain, which kept
the trails damp and the creeks full of water. Another inch on Saturday, along with high
winds, made the Missouri Mudders scramble to keep the course properly arrowed. My
drive to the Sellers residence began with 5 hours of headwind, followed by steady
rain when I crossed the Missouri border. Our trip to St. Joe State Park early Sunday
morning was dry, but the staging area was as wet as I’d ever seen it. And neither the
weather forecast nor the dark skies overhead looked encouraging.
Matt and I pre-registered on row 5, which most riders shy away from but we prefer
because, quite honestly, it lets us finish sooner. We’re both well past the age and
enthusiasm for hanging out and bench racing for hours while waiting for scores to be
posted. After an enduro (or any race, for that matter) we’re generally tired and grumpy
and just want to go home, take a hot bath (separately) and wrap hot towels around
our heads. The downside to an early row is breaking in the trail for the rest of the field.
On a day when high winds would strip arrows from trees and wood stakes, we were
usually helping navigate for those riding behind us. Even so, as we would discover in
many sections, an early row at this year’s Leadbelt was the hot ticket.
At the starting line, only Jon “Spud” Simons, Aaron “Chili” Roberts and Jim Jenkins
were ahead of us. Spud and Chili shared trail-clearing duties on row #2, while Jim
followed the pair on row #3. The next group to leave was a full row #5, which included
Matt and I, along with Jesse Busk (C class), Dave Pendry (+45 C class) and Jim
Staley (4-strk B). I took off first and led the way through some wide trails until the first
of my many crashes. The rally-style enduro was set up as a series of special tests
using a 30 mph speed average. In between the tests was free territory (i.e. no checks)
where speed averages were pretty slow and riders could get back on schedule. We
knew where the tests started (wherever it said “Known Control” on the route sheet)
and could arrive early with no penalty, so I just tried to cruise to the first test without
pushing too hard. In the process of cruising, I crashed a couple times but arrived at
the first test with plenty of time to spare.
The test began just outside the public area of St. Joe State Park on damp trails along
the southern park boundary. Midway through the test, light rain made the technical
rocky sections even more technical. Much of the real challenge of this test was
navigating through the center of gullies, where years of water flow had uncovered
every odd-sized rock. If there was one thing I’d learned in my years of riding at St. Joe
State Park, it was this: the rocks come in more random shapes than girls at a Phish
concert. And like old ladies at riverboat slot machines, they stay put. Hit a rock at St.
Joe and most of the time your bike (and your body, possibly) will bounce away from it.
I bounced away from several rocks and, as would be a common theme in every
special test, dumped the bike once or twice. Ten miles in and I’d already crashed
more than the previous two enduros combined.
The test ended at the pavement next to the sand flats in the public area of the state
park, where Spud and Chili were comparing notes and I mourned the demise of my
mechanical odometer. One or more of my crashes had cracked open its face but the
mileage counter was still clicking away. Matt caught up two minutes later and we took
off after Spud and Chili, knowing we could run as far ahead of schedule as we
wanted. The arrows pointed us toward the north end of the park and into a section of
woods notoriously muddy when wet. The trails are heavily used by ATV’s and full of
ruts deep enough to swallow bikes whole, which is not always a bad thing because
sometimes it’s nice to have a little extra traction under there. The rains had filled every
rut to capacity, so any venture through the center of a water-filled cavity was the same
type of gamble as propositioning someone you've only viewed from behind – every
once in a while you get the trail riding equivalent of a dude when you were expecting a
lady.
The muddy ruts came and went, as did a swampy prairie on the northwest side of the
park property. On the way back to the sand flats, I tumbled over a log lying across the
trail at an angle. While flailing in more random directions than Michelle at a rave, I felt
the trail reach out and yank my left thumb in a very unpleasant manner. It hurt. I picked
up the bike just as Matt passed by with an encouraging “You go girl!” The pain was so
bad that I thought I’d broken my thumb. Matt waited for me and we rode together into
the public area of the park, through the sand flats and back to the staging area. With
plenty of time before the next test, we headed back to our trucks to gas up. I bummed
a few ibuprofen pills from Matt and hoped they would kick in quickly.
Many things can be done with a severely jammed thumb. You can operate a clutch.
You can give Chicago drivers the one-fingered salute. You can type overly descriptive
race reports on a computer keyboard. What you cannot do with a severely jammed
thumb is endure front end kickbacks in sand whoops or bounce off large inanimate
rocks. The pain hurts like multiple shots of Jaeger in a 34-year-old’s body.
Eight miles and 30 minutes later, Matt’s magical pills did their job and my thumb was
feeling better. We arrived very early to the second special test, along with most other
riders, so I had a chance to chat with John Yarnell on his ’03 KX250, Ray Osia, and
Mike Schmidt who was working the check. An EZ-Up tent straddled the starting point,
with room for only a single-file line of bikes. Two of the slower guys on our row
decided to line up first, which didn't suit me well when our minute came up. I bobbled
while trying to get around one of them, crashed once, then got hung up on the
toughest hill in the course. It’s rock-infested and used often in Leadbelt enduros and
difficult to climb even when the course is dry. Halfway up, I lost all momentum and
pushed the bike to the top. From there, I crashed again. By that point Matt was far
ahead of me and creative metaphors were flying out of my mouth as fast as energy
was leaving my body. I finally gathered some rhythm and arrived at the end of the test
just behind Matt and the B-rider on our row. I dropped 7 points, to go along with the 7
points I’d dropped on the first test.
The third special test began in my favorite part of the park property, which seems
reserved for two-wheeled vehicles and is used selectively for races. Once again, we
had time to kill at the check-in, so I pushed aside the other riders on row #5 and I
lined up first. The test was 8.5 miles, the longest of the first loop and the one with the
most singletrack. When dry, these trails are as good as can be found anywhere in
Missouri and even when wet, they’re still fairly rideable. Not so rideable, however, was
a long section through the center of a creek. Even under normal conditions the creek’
s deep silt and rocks are a handful. Throw in a foot or two of rushing water and it was
a real test, especially riding upstream. Add a series of slick rock ledges and you
might understand why this was one of the most physically demanding sections of the
entire course.
I approached the rock ledges to an audience of Lars Valin and another Missouri
Mudder on hand to help sort out bottlenecks. The first ledge was relatively square,
about 16 inches high, and surrounded in pools of water. With no traction to loft the
front wheel up the ledge, I hit it head on with barely enough momentum to clear. Lars
offered a few words of encouragement while I scaled the next set of ledges.
Somewhere in this stretch of creek I saw Jim Jenkins lying in a patch of silt with his
boot caught under his KX250. While he struggled to untangle himself, I asked if he
was OK, which is Stichnoth code for “Are you incapacitated to the point of needing to
be airlifted to the hospital?” Sometimes I take pity on those hopelessly stuck in mud
holes or lying motionless and face down in 12 inches of water, but Jim was simply
caught with his boot under his bike. I rode on.
I crashed once during this test and finished by dropping 12 points, for a first-loop
score of 26. Back at the truck, I ate a turkey sandwich, gassed up the bike and
examined my swollen clutch hand. Matt came in a few minutes later to show off a nice
cut under his eye. He stayed awhile to clean it up, while I finished my sandwich and
prepared for the second loop.
About 4 minutes ahead of schedule, I hopped on the bike and headed back to where I’
d finished the first loop. Arrows seemed to point towards the sand track next to the
pits, so I took off in that direction and caught up to Spud and Chili. Where the track
ended and the woods began, no arrows were in sight. The three of us backtracked
and eventually figured out the second loop started exactly as the first. Inside the
woods, it didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out the 18 mph speed average would
be next to impossible for me to maintain. Not helping matters was getting hung up on
some rocks and sliding backwards under a fallen tree. Special Test #4 was mostly a
repeat of the first test but was placed a mile or so further down the trail. By the time I
arrived at the check-in, I was 4 minutes late. The course was pretty much torn to hell
but on a positive note, there was no mistaking where the trail went.
Better defined lines through the nasty gullies didn't make them any easier the second
time around. I was 7 minutes off the pace at the end of the test, but because I
checked in 4 minutes late, I dropped 11 points. Once again, we headed out to the
sand flats, through the bike-swallowing ruts and back to the grassy swamp. This time
through, the swamp path had widened from 5 feet to about 30. Somewhere prior to
that point, I found Chili playing in the mud and stopped for a minute to play with him.
Turns out he was actually stuck in a water hole. We pulled out his bike and rode
together for a few miles, which was lots of fun because Chili rides a strong pace and
doesn't crash as much as I do.
I avoided the diagonal log that caused my jammed thumb and made it back to the
staging area unscathed. Knowing how messy the trails were, I didn't waste any time
in refilling the gas tank. I also discarded my damaged headlight shell, which had
earlier found itself on the losing end of a head-on confrontation with a tree. By then
the odometer cable was ripped out of the drive gear at the front wheel and was
flopping helplessly. It didn't matter, though. The odometer wouldn't be needed
anymore.
I was now almost 5 hours into the race and still had 30 miles to go. At the start of the
5th special test, only Spud and Chili and Black Jack Enduro President Rick Owens
(row 7) were on hand. Mike Schmidt was working the check and offered an act of
genuine kindness: he cleared my goggles of mud. At this point there was plenty of it
everywhere, although with a few hours of dryness, some of the course was tacking up
nicely. Other parts were getting worse. About half the riders signed up for two loops
would not make it to this checkpoint. Matt was part of this attrition due to his cut eye
(courtesy of his handlebar) and called it a day after briefly giving the second loop a try.
The first mile or two of Special Test #5 used new trails, so Spud and Chili and I were
back to clearing out the trails for the 55 remaining riders. The course eventually found
its way back to what we’d ridden on the first loop, which was now pretty much slop.
Both sets of brake pads were completely gone. All I could hear was the grunting of the
300’s magic engine, brake squeal each time I touched either the rear pedal or front
lever, and the sound of rubber tires on greasy muck, like squeezing a fistful of
saturated Illinois mud between your palms.
I dropped 23 points in the 9.5-mile test. Somewhere in that test or the 12 mph section
following it, the course passed through the infamous waterfall. Anyone who’s ridden
the Leadbelt in the last few years knows what I’m talking about. It’s the most popular
spectator vantage point on the course, filled with cameras and onlookers seeking
carnage. On a normal day, a small stream provides a scenic series of cascading rock
ledges, about 20 feet wide. Some of the ledges with an even slope can be ridden
down with little effort. Other ledges drop off a few feet. It is those three or four ledges
that are sphincter-tightening when the water flow is but a trickle. What I saw on this
day was simply amazing: a raging, whitewater river. Many ledges were completely
hidden by rapids that kayakers could have enjoyed.
My first launch off a ledge was met with flashbulbs and cheers. The second launch
was nearly disaster. The back wheel spun with the smallest blip of throttle, so I wasn't
getting much lift and the front wheel dropped off the edge like an Acapulcan cliff diver.
Nevertheless, I kept myself attached to the bike. After I’d conquered the scariest of the
ledges, the spectators thinned out and the rock-bottom creek leveled off. Below one of
the last ledges was a deep pool of water, which we were supposed to avoid by
following arrows around a tree branch that had lodged itself against the edge of the
ledge. I didn't react in time and fell over while trying to make a quick turn to the right.
The bike should have landed with me in the 18-inch pool of water below the ledge. It
should have been completely submerged (like me), and I should have ended my day
by pumping water out of the engine. But somehow, thanks to the tree branch, the bike
stopped short of the pool of water and teetered on the ledge. Somehow the engine
kept running and I was able to grab the clutch in time to keep it going. And somehow,
when I uprighted the bike walked it down the ledge, I stayed on my feet while standing
in a slippery pool of water.
My unintended swim actually felt good. Even though temperatures never rose much
above 70 degrees, I was heating up and I had a lot of time to make up in order to
arrive at the final test on time. Under normal conditions a 12 mph average through the
7-mile transfer to the final test would have been a good chance to get reasonably
close to being back on schedule. But the trails had turned into slop. I felt tired and
slow and would have been very happy if the race had ended right then. The mile
markers passed by every so slowly, and by the time I made it to the final test, I was 23
minutes late. So, in the 7-mile transfer section, I didn't make up any time, in a 12 mph
speed average. In comparison, Mike Lafferty dropped 11 points in Special Test #5
and gained back every one of those 11 minutes by riding exceptionally fast through
the transfer section. I averaged 12 mph; he averaged 17.5 mph. Huge difference in
the woods.
The final test threw in a new twist: hail. Rain came first, steadily and then in buckets.
With goggles removed, I kept my head down. Soon I noticed a prickly sensation on my
arms and saw the unmistakable bouncing of pea-sized hail on the ground. Now this
was getting interesting. Fast guys were passing from rows behind me, some riding
with the same energy I do on the first lap of a hare scramble. In a wide, 4th gear
section I could see Spud and Chili ahead and eventually passed them. A mile or so
later, Chili found me restarting my KTM after pulling it out of a deep rut. “Hey, it’s
raining,” he announced. “Hey, no shit,” I replied. I took off ahead and promptly
dumped the bike. I remounted and rode with Chili for another quarter-mile until being
reminded that while it can be helpful to switch the fuel petcock to the “off” position to
cure a flooded carburetor, it’s equally helpful to switch back to the “on” position when
the engine is running again. Chili took off while I made some extra work for myself.
Later, I caught up to Chili and followed his creative lines through the ruts and then let
him follow me after passing through an observation check. That was the last I’d see
of him. When the test was over, the course wound itself another 5 miles back to the
staging area. I was never so glad to see the sand flats. My bike was a mess. With no
headlight shell, my riding number wasn't visible (not that anyone could have read it
anyway), my odometer cable was tied neatly in knots (thanks to a check worker who
didn't want to see it get tangled in the front wheel) and my score card was completely
waterlogged. If the club was able to use it in any way for scoring, my hat is off to them.
Mike Lafferty won the race handily, while Mike Sigerty took the Vet A class win. I was
one of only 43 riders to finish two loops, out of 109 who had signed up to ride the
whole 95 miles. My clutch hand was swelling up like a marshmallow and my
forearms felt loaded with long, sharp pins. But I was satisfied in finishing, almost to
the point of disbelief because of all the events that could have - should have - ended
my day early. Toughest race ever.
Park Hills, Missouri
Leadbelt National Enduro
4th of 9 in Vet A
Tough races mean different things to different people. The 2006 Leadbelt National
Enduro was muddy, but not the muddiest conditions I've ever experienced. The
weather turned nasty and the skies unloaded in the afternoon, but I've ridden in
heavier rains. Even the hail wasn't the most painful I've ever endured (Polo, Missouri
in 2004 takes those honors). But overall, I would rank the ’06 Leadbelt as the
toughest race I've ever finished, for one simple reason: it was longest continuous
amount of time I've ever spent on a motorcycle, in bad weather, on a muddy course,
with a severely jammed thumb, no brake pads at the halfway point and a broken
odometer. Pretty simple, really.
Leading up to race weekend, Park Hills received a couple inches of rain, which kept
the trails damp and the creeks full of water. Another inch on Saturday, along with high
winds, made the Missouri Mudders scramble to keep the course properly arrowed. My
drive to the Sellers residence began with 5 hours of headwind, followed by steady
rain when I crossed the Missouri border. Our trip to St. Joe State Park early Sunday
morning was dry, but the staging area was as wet as I’d ever seen it. And neither the
weather forecast nor the dark skies overhead looked encouraging.
Matt and I pre-registered on row 5, which most riders shy away from but we prefer
because, quite honestly, it lets us finish sooner. We’re both well past the age and
enthusiasm for hanging out and bench racing for hours while waiting for scores to be
posted. After an enduro (or any race, for that matter) we’re generally tired and grumpy
and just want to go home, take a hot bath (separately) and wrap hot towels around
our heads. The downside to an early row is breaking in the trail for the rest of the field.
On a day when high winds would strip arrows from trees and wood stakes, we were
usually helping navigate for those riding behind us. Even so, as we would discover in
many sections, an early row at this year’s Leadbelt was the hot ticket.
At the starting line, only Jon “Spud” Simons, Aaron “Chili” Roberts and Jim Jenkins
were ahead of us. Spud and Chili shared trail-clearing duties on row #2, while Jim
followed the pair on row #3. The next group to leave was a full row #5, which included
Matt and I, along with Jesse Busk (C class), Dave Pendry (+45 C class) and Jim
Staley (4-strk B). I took off first and led the way through some wide trails until the first
of my many crashes. The rally-style enduro was set up as a series of special tests
using a 30 mph speed average. In between the tests was free territory (i.e. no checks)
where speed averages were pretty slow and riders could get back on schedule. We
knew where the tests started (wherever it said “Known Control” on the route sheet)
and could arrive early with no penalty, so I just tried to cruise to the first test without
pushing too hard. In the process of cruising, I crashed a couple times but arrived at
the first test with plenty of time to spare.
The test began just outside the public area of St. Joe State Park on damp trails along
the southern park boundary. Midway through the test, light rain made the technical
rocky sections even more technical. Much of the real challenge of this test was
navigating through the center of gullies, where years of water flow had uncovered
every odd-sized rock. If there was one thing I’d learned in my years of riding at St. Joe
State Park, it was this: the rocks come in more random shapes than girls at a Phish
concert. And like old ladies at riverboat slot machines, they stay put. Hit a rock at St.
Joe and most of the time your bike (and your body, possibly) will bounce away from it.
I bounced away from several rocks and, as would be a common theme in every
special test, dumped the bike once or twice. Ten miles in and I’d already crashed
more than the previous two enduros combined.
The test ended at the pavement next to the sand flats in the public area of the state
park, where Spud and Chili were comparing notes and I mourned the demise of my
mechanical odometer. One or more of my crashes had cracked open its face but the
mileage counter was still clicking away. Matt caught up two minutes later and we took
off after Spud and Chili, knowing we could run as far ahead of schedule as we
wanted. The arrows pointed us toward the north end of the park and into a section of
woods notoriously muddy when wet. The trails are heavily used by ATV’s and full of
ruts deep enough to swallow bikes whole, which is not always a bad thing because
sometimes it’s nice to have a little extra traction under there. The rains had filled every
rut to capacity, so any venture through the center of a water-filled cavity was the same
type of gamble as propositioning someone you've only viewed from behind – every
once in a while you get the trail riding equivalent of a dude when you were expecting a
lady.
The muddy ruts came and went, as did a swampy prairie on the northwest side of the
park property. On the way back to the sand flats, I tumbled over a log lying across the
trail at an angle. While flailing in more random directions than Michelle at a rave, I felt
the trail reach out and yank my left thumb in a very unpleasant manner. It hurt. I picked
up the bike just as Matt passed by with an encouraging “You go girl!” The pain was so
bad that I thought I’d broken my thumb. Matt waited for me and we rode together into
the public area of the park, through the sand flats and back to the staging area. With
plenty of time before the next test, we headed back to our trucks to gas up. I bummed
a few ibuprofen pills from Matt and hoped they would kick in quickly.
Many things can be done with a severely jammed thumb. You can operate a clutch.
You can give Chicago drivers the one-fingered salute. You can type overly descriptive
race reports on a computer keyboard. What you cannot do with a severely jammed
thumb is endure front end kickbacks in sand whoops or bounce off large inanimate
rocks. The pain hurts like multiple shots of Jaeger in a 34-year-old’s body.
Eight miles and 30 minutes later, Matt’s magical pills did their job and my thumb was
feeling better. We arrived very early to the second special test, along with most other
riders, so I had a chance to chat with John Yarnell on his ’03 KX250, Ray Osia, and
Mike Schmidt who was working the check. An EZ-Up tent straddled the starting point,
with room for only a single-file line of bikes. Two of the slower guys on our row
decided to line up first, which didn't suit me well when our minute came up. I bobbled
while trying to get around one of them, crashed once, then got hung up on the
toughest hill in the course. It’s rock-infested and used often in Leadbelt enduros and
difficult to climb even when the course is dry. Halfway up, I lost all momentum and
pushed the bike to the top. From there, I crashed again. By that point Matt was far
ahead of me and creative metaphors were flying out of my mouth as fast as energy
was leaving my body. I finally gathered some rhythm and arrived at the end of the test
just behind Matt and the B-rider on our row. I dropped 7 points, to go along with the 7
points I’d dropped on the first test.
The third special test began in my favorite part of the park property, which seems
reserved for two-wheeled vehicles and is used selectively for races. Once again, we
had time to kill at the check-in, so I pushed aside the other riders on row #5 and I
lined up first. The test was 8.5 miles, the longest of the first loop and the one with the
most singletrack. When dry, these trails are as good as can be found anywhere in
Missouri and even when wet, they’re still fairly rideable. Not so rideable, however, was
a long section through the center of a creek. Even under normal conditions the creek’
s deep silt and rocks are a handful. Throw in a foot or two of rushing water and it was
a real test, especially riding upstream. Add a series of slick rock ledges and you
might understand why this was one of the most physically demanding sections of the
entire course.
I approached the rock ledges to an audience of Lars Valin and another Missouri
Mudder on hand to help sort out bottlenecks. The first ledge was relatively square,
about 16 inches high, and surrounded in pools of water. With no traction to loft the
front wheel up the ledge, I hit it head on with barely enough momentum to clear. Lars
offered a few words of encouragement while I scaled the next set of ledges.
Somewhere in this stretch of creek I saw Jim Jenkins lying in a patch of silt with his
boot caught under his KX250. While he struggled to untangle himself, I asked if he
was OK, which is Stichnoth code for “Are you incapacitated to the point of needing to
be airlifted to the hospital?” Sometimes I take pity on those hopelessly stuck in mud
holes or lying motionless and face down in 12 inches of water, but Jim was simply
caught with his boot under his bike. I rode on.
I crashed once during this test and finished by dropping 12 points, for a first-loop
score of 26. Back at the truck, I ate a turkey sandwich, gassed up the bike and
examined my swollen clutch hand. Matt came in a few minutes later to show off a nice
cut under his eye. He stayed awhile to clean it up, while I finished my sandwich and
prepared for the second loop.
About 4 minutes ahead of schedule, I hopped on the bike and headed back to where I’
d finished the first loop. Arrows seemed to point towards the sand track next to the
pits, so I took off in that direction and caught up to Spud and Chili. Where the track
ended and the woods began, no arrows were in sight. The three of us backtracked
and eventually figured out the second loop started exactly as the first. Inside the
woods, it didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out the 18 mph speed average would
be next to impossible for me to maintain. Not helping matters was getting hung up on
some rocks and sliding backwards under a fallen tree. Special Test #4 was mostly a
repeat of the first test but was placed a mile or so further down the trail. By the time I
arrived at the check-in, I was 4 minutes late. The course was pretty much torn to hell
but on a positive note, there was no mistaking where the trail went.
Better defined lines through the nasty gullies didn't make them any easier the second
time around. I was 7 minutes off the pace at the end of the test, but because I
checked in 4 minutes late, I dropped 11 points. Once again, we headed out to the
sand flats, through the bike-swallowing ruts and back to the grassy swamp. This time
through, the swamp path had widened from 5 feet to about 30. Somewhere prior to
that point, I found Chili playing in the mud and stopped for a minute to play with him.
Turns out he was actually stuck in a water hole. We pulled out his bike and rode
together for a few miles, which was lots of fun because Chili rides a strong pace and
doesn't crash as much as I do.
I avoided the diagonal log that caused my jammed thumb and made it back to the
staging area unscathed. Knowing how messy the trails were, I didn't waste any time
in refilling the gas tank. I also discarded my damaged headlight shell, which had
earlier found itself on the losing end of a head-on confrontation with a tree. By then
the odometer cable was ripped out of the drive gear at the front wheel and was
flopping helplessly. It didn't matter, though. The odometer wouldn't be needed
anymore.
I was now almost 5 hours into the race and still had 30 miles to go. At the start of the
5th special test, only Spud and Chili and Black Jack Enduro President Rick Owens
(row 7) were on hand. Mike Schmidt was working the check and offered an act of
genuine kindness: he cleared my goggles of mud. At this point there was plenty of it
everywhere, although with a few hours of dryness, some of the course was tacking up
nicely. Other parts were getting worse. About half the riders signed up for two loops
would not make it to this checkpoint. Matt was part of this attrition due to his cut eye
(courtesy of his handlebar) and called it a day after briefly giving the second loop a try.
The first mile or two of Special Test #5 used new trails, so Spud and Chili and I were
back to clearing out the trails for the 55 remaining riders. The course eventually found
its way back to what we’d ridden on the first loop, which was now pretty much slop.
Both sets of brake pads were completely gone. All I could hear was the grunting of the
300’s magic engine, brake squeal each time I touched either the rear pedal or front
lever, and the sound of rubber tires on greasy muck, like squeezing a fistful of
saturated Illinois mud between your palms.
I dropped 23 points in the 9.5-mile test. Somewhere in that test or the 12 mph section
following it, the course passed through the infamous waterfall. Anyone who’s ridden
the Leadbelt in the last few years knows what I’m talking about. It’s the most popular
spectator vantage point on the course, filled with cameras and onlookers seeking
carnage. On a normal day, a small stream provides a scenic series of cascading rock
ledges, about 20 feet wide. Some of the ledges with an even slope can be ridden
down with little effort. Other ledges drop off a few feet. It is those three or four ledges
that are sphincter-tightening when the water flow is but a trickle. What I saw on this
day was simply amazing: a raging, whitewater river. Many ledges were completely
hidden by rapids that kayakers could have enjoyed.
My first launch off a ledge was met with flashbulbs and cheers. The second launch
was nearly disaster. The back wheel spun with the smallest blip of throttle, so I wasn't
getting much lift and the front wheel dropped off the edge like an Acapulcan cliff diver.
Nevertheless, I kept myself attached to the bike. After I’d conquered the scariest of the
ledges, the spectators thinned out and the rock-bottom creek leveled off. Below one of
the last ledges was a deep pool of water, which we were supposed to avoid by
following arrows around a tree branch that had lodged itself against the edge of the
ledge. I didn't react in time and fell over while trying to make a quick turn to the right.
The bike should have landed with me in the 18-inch pool of water below the ledge. It
should have been completely submerged (like me), and I should have ended my day
by pumping water out of the engine. But somehow, thanks to the tree branch, the bike
stopped short of the pool of water and teetered on the ledge. Somehow the engine
kept running and I was able to grab the clutch in time to keep it going. And somehow,
when I uprighted the bike walked it down the ledge, I stayed on my feet while standing
in a slippery pool of water.
My unintended swim actually felt good. Even though temperatures never rose much
above 70 degrees, I was heating up and I had a lot of time to make up in order to
arrive at the final test on time. Under normal conditions a 12 mph average through the
7-mile transfer to the final test would have been a good chance to get reasonably
close to being back on schedule. But the trails had turned into slop. I felt tired and
slow and would have been very happy if the race had ended right then. The mile
markers passed by every so slowly, and by the time I made it to the final test, I was 23
minutes late. So, in the 7-mile transfer section, I didn't make up any time, in a 12 mph
speed average. In comparison, Mike Lafferty dropped 11 points in Special Test #5
and gained back every one of those 11 minutes by riding exceptionally fast through
the transfer section. I averaged 12 mph; he averaged 17.5 mph. Huge difference in
the woods.
The final test threw in a new twist: hail. Rain came first, steadily and then in buckets.
With goggles removed, I kept my head down. Soon I noticed a prickly sensation on my
arms and saw the unmistakable bouncing of pea-sized hail on the ground. Now this
was getting interesting. Fast guys were passing from rows behind me, some riding
with the same energy I do on the first lap of a hare scramble. In a wide, 4th gear
section I could see Spud and Chili ahead and eventually passed them. A mile or so
later, Chili found me restarting my KTM after pulling it out of a deep rut. “Hey, it’s
raining,” he announced. “Hey, no shit,” I replied. I took off ahead and promptly
dumped the bike. I remounted and rode with Chili for another quarter-mile until being
reminded that while it can be helpful to switch the fuel petcock to the “off” position to
cure a flooded carburetor, it’s equally helpful to switch back to the “on” position when
the engine is running again. Chili took off while I made some extra work for myself.
Later, I caught up to Chili and followed his creative lines through the ruts and then let
him follow me after passing through an observation check. That was the last I’d see
of him. When the test was over, the course wound itself another 5 miles back to the
staging area. I was never so glad to see the sand flats. My bike was a mess. With no
headlight shell, my riding number wasn't visible (not that anyone could have read it
anyway), my odometer cable was tied neatly in knots (thanks to a check worker who
didn't want to see it get tangled in the front wheel) and my score card was completely
waterlogged. If the club was able to use it in any way for scoring, my hat is off to them.
Mike Lafferty won the race handily, while Mike Sigerty took the Vet A class win. I was
one of only 43 riders to finish two loops, out of 109 who had signed up to ride the
whole 95 miles. My clutch hand was swelling up like a marshmallow and my
forearms felt loaded with long, sharp pins. But I was satisfied in finishing, almost to
the point of disbelief because of all the events that could have - should have - ended
my day early. Toughest race ever.
Park Hills, Missouri
| Just a bit fat. |
| Tired, beat up, and ready to go home. |
 |  |  |