| 2006 Race Reports |
June 4, 2006
Morrison, Illinois
Moose Run
5th of 11 in Vet A
Unless you've tried it, the Moose Run is just an infamous name like Blackwater or
Erzberg. We all know it’s tough. We know you can’t worry about what your bike will look
like afterwards, or what your body will feel like on Monday morning. But until you spend
5 hours in the saddle in Bill Gusse’s backyard, you don’t know.
The first 3 or 4 miles are somewhat rideable, actually. The peat whoops are deep and
dusty when dry, but most of the first part of the course is designed for ATV’s. The trails
start out wide, sparsely populated with logs and otherwise manageable, save for the
occasional 3-foot wheel drop into soil that is softer than sand. The first 10 minutes of
the race could make a first-time rider wonder what all the fuss is about.
Then comes the creek. A crowd of spectators tells you something interesting is about
to happen, and there’s hardly a scene more remarkable than the first crossing of
Rock Creek. The water is deep. The creek bed is slimy mud. Some riders make
aggressive charges, diving right in – sometimes in a literal sense. Others take a good
look at the action, ease into the water and walk their bikes across. The first time
through, I did the latter and waded beside my KX250 through waist-deep water. The
day before, I’d finally patched T-vents into my carburetor hoses and the results were
perfect – no water in the carb, not a single bog in the engine. Others weren't so lucky.
After the creek, the real fun begins. The trail diverges from the ATV course and turns
into the narrowest of singletrack. That, in itself, is not uncommon to Illinois. In fact,
constricted trails are just about everywhere in the place we call Land of Narrowly
Spaced Trees. At the Moose Run, the difference is, Bill Gusse doesn't care what’s
there to begin with. Orange ribbons hang randomly from trees, to be later reinforced
with black and white arrows stapled to whatever is available. In many places it’s up to
the riders to find a path linking up the arrows.
The challenge of navigating the arrows is caused by the fact that we don’t have forests
in the upper two-thirds of Illinois. Rather, we have woods. Places like Missouri have
forests. Missouri trees are tall and their canopies snuff out all but the most shade-
happy brush. Illinois trees, on the other hand, are equal-opportunity foliage. Anything
green is welcome to intermingle within the trees, which is great for wildlife but tough
on dirt bikers. Stray from the beaten path and anything is possible. Anything.
Sometimes you find a hidden log, other times a rusty old car. Even in the more open
sections, random objects often reach out and grab unsuspecting riders.
Photographer John Gasso's online album showed one unlucky guy being stopped in
the middle of a creek by what appeared to be a steel cable wrapped in his rear wheel.
Where did it come from? Who knows.
Trees near Morrison apparently don’t stay vertical very long. They fall over, often. And
Bill Gusse finds every last one of them. These are the kind of trees you’ll rarely see in
a hare scramble, or anywhere else for that matter. They appear out of nowhere, which
is why it’s so difficult to ride aggressively in the Moose Run: around every blind corner
could be a 24-inch log lying at an angle to the trail. Or an 18-inch log lying at an angle
and perched a foot off the ground. Or a 10-inch log sitting three feet off the ground. Or
a 16-inch log followed immediately by a 12-inch log stretching across the trail at
helmet level. The combinations are as endless as the logs themselves. If you were to
add up all the logs one foot in diameter and larger, you’d be counting at least 20 per
mile of woods. They just don’t stop.
One of Bill Gusse's talents in course layout is forcing riders to take on the obstacles. I
counted two places where effective alternate routes had developed around downed
trees. Two places. Part of the reason for this is many of the trails head straight down
the center of small creeks and gullies. Once you’re down there, you’re not getting out
until Bill Gusse decides to let you out. That may mean dismounting, leaning your bike
over as far as it will go and ducking under an overhanging log. It might require lifting
the back wheel over a V-shaped log. And sometimes, only a tow strap gets you out of
there. Just ask Ryan Moss, victim of a deep hole in a creek. Two positive things came
of his stuck bike, with its rear wheel buried out of sight and its front wheel pointed
upward at a 45-degree angle: 1) everyone else knew where not to go; and 2) his bike
was stuck about 10 feet from a road culvert. A tow strap and a van solved the problem,
but not before ending Ryan's day early.
Forty minutes into the race, I came to the gas stop and located my red jug next to Vet B
rider Brian Scheulin's. Forty minutes and 16 miles. Once again, a first timer might
think things were going better than expected. And once again, he would be wrong. The
logs just kept coming, and the trail wasn't exactly broken in yet. In one spot I found
myself wandering aimlessly in a newly planted soybean field, searching for any sign
of arrows. After backtracking into the woods, the trail was found. I would spend the
next hour and forty-five minutes trying to survive the 19 miles following the gas stop.
In the second half of the course, some logs were nothing but obscene in size. One
required raising the front wheel to the point of nearly flipping backwards and then
hoping – praying – that the rear wheel would hit the log in time to bring down the front
end. It did, and the skid plate smacked solid wood. The front wheel teetered, the back
end tottered, and I hoped divine intervention would give me enough momentum to
clear the log. Fortunately, it did.
Bill Gusse is not entirely without compassion. The most difficult woods section was
saved for the end but was followed by about 5 miles of wide open ditches and fields of
peat. Before I came to those ditches and fields, I was nearly the victim of When Bikes
Attack! While hung up on a root, another bike approached from behind. As the bike
neared, I focused on clearing the root and then felt a heavy thump against my
shoulders. I turned my head around and saw an upside down Yamaha clinging to my
rear fender and its rider standing behind. I was a bit offended. Then I saw that no
harm had been done to either of us and I laughed at the sight. We helped each other
past the nasty root and for the next couple miles I still couldn't figure out why he
launched his bike into the back of mine. The trail was flat and easy to navigate up to
that point. Clearly, the hydrocillator in his Yamaha was faulty.
The course ended with a motocross track, where I performed a classic high-side
crash to an audience of onlookers. The previous year, when I’d come to this point, I
wanted nothing more to do with any of the obstacles I’d just faced. This year, instead
of packing up and driving home, I decided a second lap might just be easier than the
first. My unintended focus on endurance events this year must have paid off, for I felt
as if I still had enough energy to survive another 2.5 hours. I refueled the KX beside
my pickup truck and then did something I will never, ever do again: I relieved myself
without removing my gloves. Why? Because it takes so long to blister-proof my City
Boy Hands. Five strategically placed Band-Aids and two Palm Savers – it’s as much
an art as a necessity and I didn't want to disturb anything inside the gloves. So I
touched my pee-pee with gloves that had seen 35 miles of every kind of weed known
to Northern Illinois. One week later, I would pay. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
In some ways the second lap was easier, other ways more difficult. The small
amounts of time I shaved by following better lines through tough sections were
usually offset by screw-ups in other sections that hadn't caused any problems on the
first lap. Mostly, I rode scared. Sometimes it’s better not to know what’s coming.
Around several blind corners, where large logs appeared instantly, I was timid. One
log I’d cleared (barely) earlier in the day caused my hardest fall and bent my shifter, all
because I panicked and came to a dead stop about two feet from it.
I did grow some cojones in some sections, such as the deep crossing of Rock Creek.
Instead of walking my KX through the water, I stayed on the seat and opened the
throttle as far as it would let me. In the center of the creek, the engine gave one very
brief bog but carried me to the other side. After the gas stop (once again, 40 minutes
into the lap), I passed through a road culvert and came upon the KTM of Ryan Moss,
deeply stuck in a creek. Ryan was long gone; his bike served as a warning. Most
riders avoided the creek by scaling the grassy bank on the right side of the culvert,
which I though was a good idea until I noticed the marked trail on the opposite side.
The creek at this point was more of a waterless ditch, so once again I followed
someone else’s path and dropped down into the center. I was progressing as well as
I could, considering the bottom of the ditch was about a foot wide and two feet deep.
Thirty feet later I realized I had to get out of there, and fast, so I lifted the front wheel out
of the narrow ditch and pushed my way up the side. It was the most energy I wasted
all day.
The rest of the second half was about as uneventful as a Moose Run can be. Not that
it was without its usual sphincter-tightening obstacles around every corner, but the
riders were spread out widely, with less than half the field starting the second lap.
Most of my time was spent alone in the woods, struggling with the bent shifter. For 30
minutes or so, each shift had to be deliberate but eventually I got used to it. I did
manage to smash the fat part of my pipe against a sawed-off five-inch log sticking out
into the trail, but overall bike damage was otherwise minimal. My body was wearing
down near the end and I was glad to see the long section of ditches and fields. At the
motocross track, I gave no special shows to the crowd and finished at roughly 6:00 p.
m., nearly five hours after I’d started. I hadn't been so satisfied in seeing my scorecard
removed from my front fender since the Leadbelt Enduro five weeks earlier. Once
again, last year’s champ Jimmy Jarrett took the overall win, followed by Justin
Williamson. Only 41 riders finished two laps and just 8 riders completed three trips
around the course. Once again, even when dry, the Moose Run was as tough as it
gets.
June 20, 2006
Hooppole, Illinois
1st of 7 in +30A
Luck can be darn helpful sometimes. There’s two kinds: that which you expect is a
possibility under certain circumstances, and the kind which comes as a complete
surprise. The latter was my type of luck at a new race site near Hooppole, Illinois, part
of the WFO Promotions hare scramble series in Western Illinois.
The race site is a bit unusual for Illinois, for its sandy soil, short stubby cactus and
freely growing hemp. It was as populous as the cactus. Having said that, if you live
somewhere like California or Florida and are seriously considering a road trip to next
year’s Hooppole hare scramble, consider that hemp used to be grown in Illinois for
making rope about 65 years ago. So plan on smoking truckloads at a time to get the
same effect as the stuff those Mexican dudes sell around the corner from me.
Just before noon, riders gathered around the outskirts of the staging area to take a
parade lap. While we waited for the 80cc class to finish their race, I nudged my way to
the front of the pack to get an early jump on the masses. A parade lap is mostly a
course tour at a snail’s pace if you’re anywhere behind the first 20 or 30 riders, and I
wasn't in much of a mood for patience. The trail was 4.5 miles long, about 1/3 of it
tight singletrack, 1/3 ATV trails and the rest very fast runs through fields and pastures.
Two spots looked like sure trouble during the race, both ditches with bottoms as soft
as the Trixies at North Avenue Beach (can I say that?). Other than a large log or two,
the dusty fields looked to be the primary challenge of the course.
Then the rains came.
The skies let loose as we lined up in the starting area. I stared straight ahead through
wet, foggy goggles to the first turn. The fastest guys apparently thought we were
headed elsewhere off the start and placed themselves farther to the right. Call it dumb
luck, but I had picked the only open spot on the front row, which happened to be the
shortest route to the first turn. It wasn't like I stole someone else’s space – there just
weren't any bikes lined up that far to the left. At the blast of a shotgun, my KX250
sprang to life and I sprinted to the first corner in about 5th place, ahead of 20 or so
other A and AA riders. More luck.
It was an odd feeling. I was inside tight woods at the start of the race and not packed
with other riders like Brown Line commuters during rush hour. Three or four guys
passed me before we looped back around to the soybean field that would link us to
the ATV trails. I upshifted to 5th gear and turned the throttle nearly to its stop. At this
point the rain was pouring and each fat drop that made it inside my helmet stung my
nose. I couldn't see more than 75 feet ahead. Before the race began I’d expected less
vision through here because of dust, but now it was rain and my goggles were just
north of useless. Near the end of the field was a hard left where we crossed over an
old fencerow and continued next to a corn field. The turn came fast and I missed it. A
quick U-turn revealed another guy behind me who also missed the turn and 4 or 5
guys looking to take advantage of our mistake. I lost a spot or two before we came to
one of the sketchy ditches that I’d thought would be big trouble during the race. It was.
I powered my way through the ditch, cleanly, barely. The knobby tires of one bike after
another were digging deep ruts and, as I would learn later, the ditch became a huge
bottleneck. Anyone who didn't make it through with the first 20 riders would have to
wait their turn. Some riders tried to cross the ditch using an old irrigation bridge with
some very large gaps. Others tried alternate paths across the ditch, only to be caught
on the wrong side of a fence and forced to backtrack.
This was my final installment of dumb luck, and it was important. While the others lost
time here on the first lap, I was through without incident and put a gap on the +30A
field. Best part about that was the ditch was rerouted to a much easier spot on my
second lap. The ATV trails following the ditch were slimy, although the sandy soil was
handling the rain fairly well. This next couple miles of trail darted in and out of the
trees, with most woods sections connected by open straights heavily whooped out by
the ATVs earlier. Near the end of the lap was an open pasture where I could blast
through the grass as fast as I dared. It was risky. Perennial fast guy Phil Converse
would perform a huge endo in this section and knock himself silly.
The rains finally ended at the main checkpoint. During the next 2 or 3 laps the course
would improve drastically as the sand soaked up the moisture. From the second lap
to the end of the race, I wouldn't be passed by anyone until Dan Burgard caught me 50
feet from the end. But lapped riders would be a constant battle. The first of the C class
guys appeared near the end of the second lap and would be steady throughout. As
always, some riders were ridiculously helpful at moving over; others would let me
count the knobbies on their back tires inside the woods, then try to drag race in the
open areas. In one of those open areas, the most chopped-up section of sand
whoops on the course, I attempted to pass two riders before reentering the woods. I
moved to the far right to start my pass, when the second guy decided to make a pass
on the first guy. He began to move directly into my path while we both hammered
through the whoops at 50 mph. I have never yelled at someone so loud in my entire
life.
The track took me down just once, on the 3rd lap. Classic mistake – my front wheel
slid across a small, wet diagonal log. The crash was instant and harmless enough
that I kept my hand on the clutch, picked up the bike and lost just a few seconds.
About an hour into the race a tree branch grabbed my goggles and pulled the strap
down around my neck. A five second break could have remedied the situation, but I
didn't want to stop. Now goggle-less, the passing became tougher in the open fields.
With a couple laps to go, the track kept improving but the goggle situation worsened.
How so, you ask, since I wasn't wearing them? Let me explain: tree branches
grabbed the roll-off tape. No harm in that except the whistling of tape streaming 3 feet
behind my helmet. Then the tape broke apart and unwound a few more feet.
Eventually it found a path to the chain, wrapped itself tightly and instantly around the
rear wheel and jerked my head sideways.
At the end of my 8th and final lap, overall winner Dan Burgard lapped me just before
the scoring barrels. My good fortune carried me to the class win, followed by Will
Heitman. In a show of good sportsmanship, the racers collected more than $250 for
the landowner, whose soybeans were torn up a bit more than expected after the rain.
Another fun WFO race.
Morrison, Illinois
Moose Run
5th of 11 in Vet A
Unless you've tried it, the Moose Run is just an infamous name like Blackwater or
Erzberg. We all know it’s tough. We know you can’t worry about what your bike will look
like afterwards, or what your body will feel like on Monday morning. But until you spend
5 hours in the saddle in Bill Gusse’s backyard, you don’t know.
The first 3 or 4 miles are somewhat rideable, actually. The peat whoops are deep and
dusty when dry, but most of the first part of the course is designed for ATV’s. The trails
start out wide, sparsely populated with logs and otherwise manageable, save for the
occasional 3-foot wheel drop into soil that is softer than sand. The first 10 minutes of
the race could make a first-time rider wonder what all the fuss is about.
Then comes the creek. A crowd of spectators tells you something interesting is about
to happen, and there’s hardly a scene more remarkable than the first crossing of
Rock Creek. The water is deep. The creek bed is slimy mud. Some riders make
aggressive charges, diving right in – sometimes in a literal sense. Others take a good
look at the action, ease into the water and walk their bikes across. The first time
through, I did the latter and waded beside my KX250 through waist-deep water. The
day before, I’d finally patched T-vents into my carburetor hoses and the results were
perfect – no water in the carb, not a single bog in the engine. Others weren't so lucky.
After the creek, the real fun begins. The trail diverges from the ATV course and turns
into the narrowest of singletrack. That, in itself, is not uncommon to Illinois. In fact,
constricted trails are just about everywhere in the place we call Land of Narrowly
Spaced Trees. At the Moose Run, the difference is, Bill Gusse doesn't care what’s
there to begin with. Orange ribbons hang randomly from trees, to be later reinforced
with black and white arrows stapled to whatever is available. In many places it’s up to
the riders to find a path linking up the arrows.
The challenge of navigating the arrows is caused by the fact that we don’t have forests
in the upper two-thirds of Illinois. Rather, we have woods. Places like Missouri have
forests. Missouri trees are tall and their canopies snuff out all but the most shade-
happy brush. Illinois trees, on the other hand, are equal-opportunity foliage. Anything
green is welcome to intermingle within the trees, which is great for wildlife but tough
on dirt bikers. Stray from the beaten path and anything is possible. Anything.
Sometimes you find a hidden log, other times a rusty old car. Even in the more open
sections, random objects often reach out and grab unsuspecting riders.
Photographer John Gasso's online album showed one unlucky guy being stopped in
the middle of a creek by what appeared to be a steel cable wrapped in his rear wheel.
Where did it come from? Who knows.
Trees near Morrison apparently don’t stay vertical very long. They fall over, often. And
Bill Gusse finds every last one of them. These are the kind of trees you’ll rarely see in
a hare scramble, or anywhere else for that matter. They appear out of nowhere, which
is why it’s so difficult to ride aggressively in the Moose Run: around every blind corner
could be a 24-inch log lying at an angle to the trail. Or an 18-inch log lying at an angle
and perched a foot off the ground. Or a 10-inch log sitting three feet off the ground. Or
a 16-inch log followed immediately by a 12-inch log stretching across the trail at
helmet level. The combinations are as endless as the logs themselves. If you were to
add up all the logs one foot in diameter and larger, you’d be counting at least 20 per
mile of woods. They just don’t stop.
One of Bill Gusse's talents in course layout is forcing riders to take on the obstacles. I
counted two places where effective alternate routes had developed around downed
trees. Two places. Part of the reason for this is many of the trails head straight down
the center of small creeks and gullies. Once you’re down there, you’re not getting out
until Bill Gusse decides to let you out. That may mean dismounting, leaning your bike
over as far as it will go and ducking under an overhanging log. It might require lifting
the back wheel over a V-shaped log. And sometimes, only a tow strap gets you out of
there. Just ask Ryan Moss, victim of a deep hole in a creek. Two positive things came
of his stuck bike, with its rear wheel buried out of sight and its front wheel pointed
upward at a 45-degree angle: 1) everyone else knew where not to go; and 2) his bike
was stuck about 10 feet from a road culvert. A tow strap and a van solved the problem,
but not before ending Ryan's day early.
Forty minutes into the race, I came to the gas stop and located my red jug next to Vet B
rider Brian Scheulin's. Forty minutes and 16 miles. Once again, a first timer might
think things were going better than expected. And once again, he would be wrong. The
logs just kept coming, and the trail wasn't exactly broken in yet. In one spot I found
myself wandering aimlessly in a newly planted soybean field, searching for any sign
of arrows. After backtracking into the woods, the trail was found. I would spend the
next hour and forty-five minutes trying to survive the 19 miles following the gas stop.
In the second half of the course, some logs were nothing but obscene in size. One
required raising the front wheel to the point of nearly flipping backwards and then
hoping – praying – that the rear wheel would hit the log in time to bring down the front
end. It did, and the skid plate smacked solid wood. The front wheel teetered, the back
end tottered, and I hoped divine intervention would give me enough momentum to
clear the log. Fortunately, it did.
Bill Gusse is not entirely without compassion. The most difficult woods section was
saved for the end but was followed by about 5 miles of wide open ditches and fields of
peat. Before I came to those ditches and fields, I was nearly the victim of When Bikes
Attack! While hung up on a root, another bike approached from behind. As the bike
neared, I focused on clearing the root and then felt a heavy thump against my
shoulders. I turned my head around and saw an upside down Yamaha clinging to my
rear fender and its rider standing behind. I was a bit offended. Then I saw that no
harm had been done to either of us and I laughed at the sight. We helped each other
past the nasty root and for the next couple miles I still couldn't figure out why he
launched his bike into the back of mine. The trail was flat and easy to navigate up to
that point. Clearly, the hydrocillator in his Yamaha was faulty.
The course ended with a motocross track, where I performed a classic high-side
crash to an audience of onlookers. The previous year, when I’d come to this point, I
wanted nothing more to do with any of the obstacles I’d just faced. This year, instead
of packing up and driving home, I decided a second lap might just be easier than the
first. My unintended focus on endurance events this year must have paid off, for I felt
as if I still had enough energy to survive another 2.5 hours. I refueled the KX beside
my pickup truck and then did something I will never, ever do again: I relieved myself
without removing my gloves. Why? Because it takes so long to blister-proof my City
Boy Hands. Five strategically placed Band-Aids and two Palm Savers – it’s as much
an art as a necessity and I didn't want to disturb anything inside the gloves. So I
touched my pee-pee with gloves that had seen 35 miles of every kind of weed known
to Northern Illinois. One week later, I would pay. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
In some ways the second lap was easier, other ways more difficult. The small
amounts of time I shaved by following better lines through tough sections were
usually offset by screw-ups in other sections that hadn't caused any problems on the
first lap. Mostly, I rode scared. Sometimes it’s better not to know what’s coming.
Around several blind corners, where large logs appeared instantly, I was timid. One
log I’d cleared (barely) earlier in the day caused my hardest fall and bent my shifter, all
because I panicked and came to a dead stop about two feet from it.
I did grow some cojones in some sections, such as the deep crossing of Rock Creek.
Instead of walking my KX through the water, I stayed on the seat and opened the
throttle as far as it would let me. In the center of the creek, the engine gave one very
brief bog but carried me to the other side. After the gas stop (once again, 40 minutes
into the lap), I passed through a road culvert and came upon the KTM of Ryan Moss,
deeply stuck in a creek. Ryan was long gone; his bike served as a warning. Most
riders avoided the creek by scaling the grassy bank on the right side of the culvert,
which I though was a good idea until I noticed the marked trail on the opposite side.
The creek at this point was more of a waterless ditch, so once again I followed
someone else’s path and dropped down into the center. I was progressing as well as
I could, considering the bottom of the ditch was about a foot wide and two feet deep.
Thirty feet later I realized I had to get out of there, and fast, so I lifted the front wheel out
of the narrow ditch and pushed my way up the side. It was the most energy I wasted
all day.
The rest of the second half was about as uneventful as a Moose Run can be. Not that
it was without its usual sphincter-tightening obstacles around every corner, but the
riders were spread out widely, with less than half the field starting the second lap.
Most of my time was spent alone in the woods, struggling with the bent shifter. For 30
minutes or so, each shift had to be deliberate but eventually I got used to it. I did
manage to smash the fat part of my pipe against a sawed-off five-inch log sticking out
into the trail, but overall bike damage was otherwise minimal. My body was wearing
down near the end and I was glad to see the long section of ditches and fields. At the
motocross track, I gave no special shows to the crowd and finished at roughly 6:00 p.
m., nearly five hours after I’d started. I hadn't been so satisfied in seeing my scorecard
removed from my front fender since the Leadbelt Enduro five weeks earlier. Once
again, last year’s champ Jimmy Jarrett took the overall win, followed by Justin
Williamson. Only 41 riders finished two laps and just 8 riders completed three trips
around the course. Once again, even when dry, the Moose Run was as tough as it
gets.
June 20, 2006
Hooppole, Illinois
1st of 7 in +30A
Luck can be darn helpful sometimes. There’s two kinds: that which you expect is a
possibility under certain circumstances, and the kind which comes as a complete
surprise. The latter was my type of luck at a new race site near Hooppole, Illinois, part
of the WFO Promotions hare scramble series in Western Illinois.
The race site is a bit unusual for Illinois, for its sandy soil, short stubby cactus and
freely growing hemp. It was as populous as the cactus. Having said that, if you live
somewhere like California or Florida and are seriously considering a road trip to next
year’s Hooppole hare scramble, consider that hemp used to be grown in Illinois for
making rope about 65 years ago. So plan on smoking truckloads at a time to get the
same effect as the stuff those Mexican dudes sell around the corner from me.
Just before noon, riders gathered around the outskirts of the staging area to take a
parade lap. While we waited for the 80cc class to finish their race, I nudged my way to
the front of the pack to get an early jump on the masses. A parade lap is mostly a
course tour at a snail’s pace if you’re anywhere behind the first 20 or 30 riders, and I
wasn't in much of a mood for patience. The trail was 4.5 miles long, about 1/3 of it
tight singletrack, 1/3 ATV trails and the rest very fast runs through fields and pastures.
Two spots looked like sure trouble during the race, both ditches with bottoms as soft
as the Trixies at North Avenue Beach (can I say that?). Other than a large log or two,
the dusty fields looked to be the primary challenge of the course.
Then the rains came.
The skies let loose as we lined up in the starting area. I stared straight ahead through
wet, foggy goggles to the first turn. The fastest guys apparently thought we were
headed elsewhere off the start and placed themselves farther to the right. Call it dumb
luck, but I had picked the only open spot on the front row, which happened to be the
shortest route to the first turn. It wasn't like I stole someone else’s space – there just
weren't any bikes lined up that far to the left. At the blast of a shotgun, my KX250
sprang to life and I sprinted to the first corner in about 5th place, ahead of 20 or so
other A and AA riders. More luck.
It was an odd feeling. I was inside tight woods at the start of the race and not packed
with other riders like Brown Line commuters during rush hour. Three or four guys
passed me before we looped back around to the soybean field that would link us to
the ATV trails. I upshifted to 5th gear and turned the throttle nearly to its stop. At this
point the rain was pouring and each fat drop that made it inside my helmet stung my
nose. I couldn't see more than 75 feet ahead. Before the race began I’d expected less
vision through here because of dust, but now it was rain and my goggles were just
north of useless. Near the end of the field was a hard left where we crossed over an
old fencerow and continued next to a corn field. The turn came fast and I missed it. A
quick U-turn revealed another guy behind me who also missed the turn and 4 or 5
guys looking to take advantage of our mistake. I lost a spot or two before we came to
one of the sketchy ditches that I’d thought would be big trouble during the race. It was.
I powered my way through the ditch, cleanly, barely. The knobby tires of one bike after
another were digging deep ruts and, as I would learn later, the ditch became a huge
bottleneck. Anyone who didn't make it through with the first 20 riders would have to
wait their turn. Some riders tried to cross the ditch using an old irrigation bridge with
some very large gaps. Others tried alternate paths across the ditch, only to be caught
on the wrong side of a fence and forced to backtrack.
This was my final installment of dumb luck, and it was important. While the others lost
time here on the first lap, I was through without incident and put a gap on the +30A
field. Best part about that was the ditch was rerouted to a much easier spot on my
second lap. The ATV trails following the ditch were slimy, although the sandy soil was
handling the rain fairly well. This next couple miles of trail darted in and out of the
trees, with most woods sections connected by open straights heavily whooped out by
the ATVs earlier. Near the end of the lap was an open pasture where I could blast
through the grass as fast as I dared. It was risky. Perennial fast guy Phil Converse
would perform a huge endo in this section and knock himself silly.
The rains finally ended at the main checkpoint. During the next 2 or 3 laps the course
would improve drastically as the sand soaked up the moisture. From the second lap
to the end of the race, I wouldn't be passed by anyone until Dan Burgard caught me 50
feet from the end. But lapped riders would be a constant battle. The first of the C class
guys appeared near the end of the second lap and would be steady throughout. As
always, some riders were ridiculously helpful at moving over; others would let me
count the knobbies on their back tires inside the woods, then try to drag race in the
open areas. In one of those open areas, the most chopped-up section of sand
whoops on the course, I attempted to pass two riders before reentering the woods. I
moved to the far right to start my pass, when the second guy decided to make a pass
on the first guy. He began to move directly into my path while we both hammered
through the whoops at 50 mph. I have never yelled at someone so loud in my entire
life.
The track took me down just once, on the 3rd lap. Classic mistake – my front wheel
slid across a small, wet diagonal log. The crash was instant and harmless enough
that I kept my hand on the clutch, picked up the bike and lost just a few seconds.
About an hour into the race a tree branch grabbed my goggles and pulled the strap
down around my neck. A five second break could have remedied the situation, but I
didn't want to stop. Now goggle-less, the passing became tougher in the open fields.
With a couple laps to go, the track kept improving but the goggle situation worsened.
How so, you ask, since I wasn't wearing them? Let me explain: tree branches
grabbed the roll-off tape. No harm in that except the whistling of tape streaming 3 feet
behind my helmet. Then the tape broke apart and unwound a few more feet.
Eventually it found a path to the chain, wrapped itself tightly and instantly around the
rear wheel and jerked my head sideways.
At the end of my 8th and final lap, overall winner Dan Burgard lapped me just before
the scoring barrels. My good fortune carried me to the class win, followed by Will
Heitman. In a show of good sportsmanship, the racers collected more than $250 for
the landowner, whose soybeans were torn up a bit more than expected after the rain.
Another fun WFO race.
Morrison, Illinois
Hooppole, Illinois
Hooppole, Illinois
| A helpful warning |
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