Page Title

2006 Race Reports

July 8-9, 2006
Walsenburg, Colorado
ISDE Qualifier
Imagine you've driven 18 hours to an off-road motorcycle race, along the way
enduring a shredded trailer tire in the middle of Kansas and having to break into a
house to snag a (free) place to sleep. You arrive at the race site, squarely in the
middle of nowhere, to find a cattle ranch mostly devoid of trees, hills and any other
terrain mildly entertaining to off-road racers. A twelve hundred mile journey to ride
cow paths? I was bummed.

But not for long.

The terrain on the east side of I-25 can be deceiving. The interesting riding seemed
to be on the right side of the highway as Matt and I drove south from Colorado
Springs, but that’s not where we were headed. We’d started our journey at 5:30 a.m.
on Thursday, aiming for Colorado Springs and a night at Matt’s brother Brad's house.
All was according to plan until one of the 16-year-old trailer tires shredded itself in the
middle of Kansas, taking out a taillight in the process. Ridiculous luck was on our
side, however, as the tire had expired just two miles ahead of Hays. In my St. Louis
banking days, I’d visited Hays many times along the way to a hog company near the
Nebraska border. Two things I knew about Hays: it has a commercial airport and it
has a Walmart. And the Walmart was within shouting distance of I-70. We limped
along the interstate, pulled into the tire center and were on our way with fresh rubber
in about an hour.

Brad’s house was another adventure, mostly because Brad and his family were not
home when we arrived. They were not even in the state of Colorado. We’d been given
the garage door code and assured that a spare house key awaited inside. The code
worked; the key wasn't there. We scoured the place. I climbed into corners of Brad’s
garage that were nobody’s business but bugs and fleas. This went on for some time
before Matt resorted to breaking and entering. Three seconds and a laminated ID
card were all it took. We were in.

Friday morning we drove south to Colorado City and checked into a KOA
Kampground. My Walmart tent saw its first duty in about 10 years, which was just
long enough for me to forget that I don’t really care for camping. At least not in a tent.
The $200,000 converted bus parked next to us, now that’s camping.

In the afternoon we unhitched the trailer and loaded the bikes into Matt’s truck.
Twenty-five miles down I-25 was the town of Walsenburg, where we drove another 16
miles east on a paved highway. From there, it was 6 or 7 miles on dirt and gravel
roads and cattle guards, flat and straight like Illinois, with trees as sparse as people.
The campers and RV’s parked in the staging area were visible from miles away. I
was convinced we would be spending the next two days riding cow paths and scrub
brush.

The Stroh ranch was host to the fourth and final qualifying round for the International
Six Days Enduro (ISDE). Anyone remotely involved in off-road racing knows this event,
but for dirt biking lay people, it’s an international race designed to test the skills of
enduro riders around the world, sort of the Olympics of our sport. Each participating
country sends its top riders to a different host nation each year. A limited number of
riders are accepted, so the U.S. qualifying races determine, for the most part, who
goes (the top team, a 6-man Trophy Team, is hand-picked). In 2006, New Zealand
will host the ISDE.

Leading up to the entrance of the staging area was a large grass track with what
seemed like 10 miles of ribbon laying out the course. Just across a fence was the
most intimidating obstacle I've ever seen at an off-road race: a 40-foot flatbed trailer,
tilted upward. It was part of the course, making a ramp about 6 feet off the ground at
its peak. "No way," I said. "They can’t be serious." Maybe it was a Whistler-style bike
stunt, where the trailer would tilt back to horizontal with the weight of bikes and riders.
A six-foot jump to a flat landing? A single thought came to mind: I will die tomorrow.

Before testing our jetting, Matt and I chatted with the Leivan's from Missouri, along
with Zach Bryant and Lars Valin. From District 17 were Jay Hall and Dan Janus, both
attempting to qualify for the ISDE. I kicked over my KTM's engine about 30 times
without success, then turned it over to Matt and he had the engine running two kicks
later. But watching Matt change carburetor needles reminded me of reason #354 why
I’ll stick with two-strokes until they are outlawed. Each needle adjustment on the 4-
stroke’s carb was a removal of the gas tank and in the end, he was unable to solve a
bogging issue and lean condition until our last day in the mountains of Taylor Park. I
made one change to my main jet and called it good enough.

With jetting complete, we searched under the big white tent for information on how
the next day’s racing would function. All we found was a nice lady who told us the
race would start at 9:00 a.m. Other than that, we knew nothing. No idea what row we
were assigned to, no clue of the time schedule. So we checked our bikes into the
impound area and headed back to the Kampground, still pondering that ridiculous
trailer jump.

Saturday morning the race details came together with the posting of rider minutes (I
was 29) and check-in times. We would have 55 minutes to arrive at the first test, a
terrain test somewhere out in the ranch, and 2.5 hours to complete the course. At
some point the A and AA riders and those with intentions of qualifying for the ISDE
(called “Letter of Intent” riders or LOI) would split off into a difficult 3-mile section with
a tough hill climb. My first thought was, Where in the heck are they gonna find a hill?
My second thought was, Why are there so many attractive women under this large
white tent? To my right was a signer-upper gal who shall be named Sporty Blondie,
dressed in sporty summer clothes and properly ab-toned for display of yummy-
tummy (described by my good friend in Chicago, Mountain Bike Chick, as “getting
hot” for the summer). To my left was a Whistler-style six-foot blond named Annell
Allen, who would be attempting to qualify for the U.S. women's ISDE team and was
already qualified as the most attractive gal I've ever seen throw a leg over a dirt bike.

We were assured the time deadlines would be easy to meet and since the long
course was 23 or 24 miles, I assumed I was capable of maintaining a 10 mph
average speed or thereabout. That part I got right. The cactus was a different story.
The race promoters warned us to stay away from the big bushy cactus growing at leg
and arm level. Sparsely populated, like the trees, how hard could it be to avoid them?
As it would turn out, more difficult than I thought.

An hour later I was suited up and ready to retrieve my bike from impound. Qualifiers
are run with pseudo-international enduro rules, where each rider can enter the
impound area 10 minutes ahead of his starting time. Inside the impound area, you
can work on your bike but not in the spot where it’s parked. After the riders on the
minute ahead of you leave, you must push your bike up a ramp onto a stage. When a
signal is given, you start your engine and must ride the bike under its own power for
30 meters, in the period of one minute, or else assume penalty points. I’d left the fuel
petcock in its “on” position overnight and, given my problems starting the engine the
day before, I was a little nervous. But the engine came to life on the first kick and I
eased down the other side of the stage ramp to start my race.

I shared the row with a local guy from Colorado and he quickly jumped ahead and out
of sight. The first part of the course was run in and out of scrub brush and gullies,
then very rocky terrain with almost no dirt in between the boulders. About every 100
yards was a sharp-edged rock ledge screaming “I will flatten your tires with the
swiftness of great swift things moving swiftly!” I was only moderately concerned, as
my Bridgestone Ultra Heavy Duty Titanium-Alloy tubes seem to have the puncture-
resistance (and approximate weight) as steel.

A few miles into the course was one of those “Holy Sh!t” moments we all experience
in riding and racing. To my left appeared a large canyon, about 100 feet deep and
300 yards wide. It was beautiful and not like anything I’d ridden before. For the rest of
the course we would ride in and around this canyon and inside its smaller “feeder”
canyons. The first of the smaller canyons came just before the terrain test, about a
mile along the canyon’s left side and another mile down the right side. My first taste
of cactus came here, when I tried an alternate route around Annell Allen, her dual-
silencer CR250F hung up on a tricky rock. It stuck me in the leg and left a piece of
cactus attached to my pants. None of the needles lodged in my skin, but the
promoters’ earlier warning was heeded.

Thirty-four minutes into the course, I arrived at the terrain test and had nearly 20
minutes to kill. One of the first few sweeping corners of the test was placed next to an
area where riders waited for their turns to come. The LOI riders, assigned to the early
rows, had already started the test when I arrived, and I spent several minutes
observing how they attacked the visible turn. A small berm was all the riders could
use at that point to dig into the corner, which caused most to take a somewhat
upright stance around the turn. Crashing is not an option in the tests, as they’re not
particularly long and the times of the fast riders are often within seconds of each
other, so most riders took a conservative approach.

Then came Wally Palmer.

Wally found a berm nobody else knew existed at that point. His Suzuki's engine was
one continuous scream from the instant he was sent into the test. He tore into the
turn with speed like no one else, leaned the bike at an impossible angle and was
gone in a flash. “Wally never learned the concept of slowing down to go fast,” said
one rider. “He’s a time bomb waiting to explode,” said another. He was, undeniably,
fast.

My turn came at 10:24 a.m. I was slow through Wally Palmer’s turn, slow through the
rocks and sand, and slow right up to the second I exited the test. Though I’d like to
blame it on a KTM tuned for low-end grunting through 100 miles of extreme terrain, it
was pretty much me. The only thing I did right was not crash.

After the test I continued trail riding, eventually winding my way to a difficult drop down
into the big canyon. How the race promoters found the tight route to the bottom of the
canyon, I’ll never know. From the top, I could only see 50-foot drop-offs. The trail had
a very sharp turn at the beginning of the steepest part of the decline, requiring a
dismount. As the bike straightened itself, there wasn't enough time to plant both feet
firmly on the pegs before squeezing by a rock ledge and being fully committed to a
quick descent into the canyon. I hung on, barely. Some of the more technical sections
of the entire course came in the next two-miles alongside a small river. Tight
squeezes between rock ledges, boulders the size of houses and just a small taste of
mud were all present.

Near the end of the canyon was the long course split-off. This section took us up the
left side of the canyon, while the B and C riders continued straight ahead. The climb
up the canyon required scaling a two-foot rock ledge and then an immediate 90-
degree left turn. Two routes were available, one a more direct shot straight up the
ledge and another, more roundabout path to the right. Upon arrival, the right side was
bottlenecked with riders (including three of the four LOI women a couple rows ahead
of me), so I took the direct route. A couple of tugs from course workers got me up and
over the ledge, but not without some wheel spinning and coolant boiling. The rock
ledge was the hardest part of the long course, but the rest of the section was no trail
ride. It just kept beating me to a pulp. I saw not a single patch of soil until we dropped
down a set of switchbacks and back into the canyon. The rocky climb seemed to go
on forever.

Down in the canyon, the trail followed a creek and wound its way back to the long
course cutoff, where an easy climb returned me to the top of the canyon. With the
amount of rock on the trails, course markings were mostly with colored ribbon tied to
whatever was available. There just weren't enough trees to staple arrows. In fact, the
only arrows on the course were used mostly to indicate a sharp change in direction.

Next up was the grass track, the final portion of the course. This early in the race, the
corners were mostly flat, but by Sunday afternoon every corner would be adequately
bermed. As with the terrain test, I was slow. The KTM just couldn't give me the
motocross-style burst of power that helps me explode out of corners. And I suck at
grass tracks. When the trailer jump appeared with spectators, I faked like I was
jumping and then swerved into the chicane that served as the Scared Rider route.

Back at the truck, Matt put the finishing touches on a flat front tire he’d suffered about
4 miles in. He started down the dirt road to go back to where he’d left off, only to
return a minute later with another flat, this one courtesy of his tire irons. I gave him my
Bridgestone Ultra Heavy Duty Titanium-Alloy tubes and that was the last he’d see of
flat tires for the rest of the week. Meanwhile, I had about 40 minutes to kill before
starting my second lap.

The second loop was easier than the first, as the trail was broken in better, although
“broken in” is a relative term since most of the course was solid rock. Some of the
loose rocks had been pushed aside to produce a somewhat smoother ride, although
“smoother” is also relative term. The terrain test was a bit easier to ride the second
time around, although I was only able to shave 2 seconds off my first attempt. Each
time through, one or two guys who’d started the test at 20 second intervals behind
me would catch me and pass. Most of the better, non-LOI guys in the various A
classes were doing the terrain test 30 seconds (or more) quicker than me.

At the long course split-off, I tried the long way around on the right side and again
needed the assistance of course workers to tug me over the ledge. Near the top of
the climb, unlike in the previous loop, I was able to keep up enough momentum over
the rocks to avoid steamy radiators. In the switchbacks on the way down I
encountered the same KTM rider as the previous lap, gingerly inching his bike down
the hillside. He had the fearful look of a flatlander out of his element, like me.

The second time through the grass track was even slower than the first. Off-road
legend Fritz Kadlec checked in 20 seconds behind and passed me at the halfway
point. In the LOI class for seniors, the old man still has it. At the truck I made myself a
turkey sandwich and once again had 40 minutes to prepare for my 3rd and final loop
of the day.

Three of the four ladies competing for ISDE honors continued their quest a couple
rows ahead of me. All of them were fast, aggressive and cute. Nicole Bradford would
best my times in all but the second terrain test, where she apparently fell. On the
grass track, every one of them was faster than me. As LOI riders they were required
to ride the tough long course section, same as the guys, and did so with success. No
small feat, considering they were riding primarily 125’s and 250 four strokes.

At the terrain test, the last of the day, I again watched the LOI guys navigate the
sweeping corner. By now a berm was well established through the entire turn. David
Pearson observed a few riders and decided to displace a handful of offending rocks
inside the berm. When his turn came, I witnessed textbook cornering technique: hard
charging into the turn, four-stroke engine on the gas, using every available square
inch of traction inside the berm. He was gone in the same flash as Wally Palmer
earlier in the day, but David’s effort was smooth and flawless.

Somehow I was 17 seconds slower in my third attempt than my first. In typical
Colorado fashion, afternoon storms moved in, but also in typical Colorado fashion,
the dark clouds produced little rain. While waiting in line for the third and final grass
track test, I talked to a guy on a Yamaha who, like several I would meet over the
weekend, used to live in Illinois but moved west. He had been a trials rider in the
Rockford area and was now trying his hand at enduros. It was working very well. He
passed me about halfway through the grass track, then launched his Yamaha over
the trailer jump. Impressive. Even more impressive was the following week when
Matt and I ran into him at Taylor Park, riding alone on a high mountain trail. In
retrospect, it wouldn't really matter if he slid off the side of the mountain while riding
alone -- the only help needed at that point would be a body recovery effort.

Inside the big white tent, another form of body recovery took place with a pair of girls
performing free massages to weary dirt bikers. I've seen a lot of unusual things at
races, but the Spanish Peak club outdid themselves with the massage girls. Also on
hand was an outfit barbequing what could have been hundreds of burgers and
assorted meats, given the size of the wood-fired grill. It was large.

Day 2 began an hour earlier and on a later row, thanks to a number of riders
participating only on Sunday. My body, and by that I mean my ass, was predictably
sore after 65 miles of punishing rocks on Saturday. The classic Stichnoth sit-down
riding style had to go, so I used my legs for something besides a buffer between the
bike and boulders: I stood on the pegs most of the way to the terrain test (shocking,
yes). The promoters had shaved 10 minutes from the terrain test check-in deadline,
but I still had plenty of time to arrive. They also dropped the whole-course deadline to
2 hours, which was also more than enough time. Instead of a 20-minute wait at the
terrain test, I only had to kill 10 minutes and at the end of the loop I was left with
around 20 minutes to spare.

The special tests were completely cut in on Sunday, but that didn't help my times. The
best I could do was come within a second or two of the previous day’s results. The
berms on the grass track were piled so high and loose that each time I tried to throw
the bike into a corner, it almost came to a stop. Eventually I gave up using the berms
altogether. At the terrain test on Lap 2, Nicole Bradford’s broken clutch lever didn't
keep her from giving up at all. She approached a group of guys on Yamahas who
were waiting for the test, asked each one for a spare clutch lever until she found a
guy with a lever in his fanny pack. Soon enough, four guys surrounded her bike, tools
in hand, to help get her back on the trail. Unfortunately, Nicole rode about 100 feet
backwards on the course to find herself a clutch lever, and even though the area was
wide open and her backtracking posed no risk to anyone, rules are rules and she
was disqualified.

My second attempt at the terrain test resulted in nothing more than a cactus in my
arm. I saw it coming but didn't make much effort to move out of the away. After the test
I could understand why the promoters recommended tweezers in the fanny pack –
the needles are hard to remove. Throughout the course I would see the results of
many close cactus encounters. When struck by riders and their bikes, the bushes
seemed to explode. On Saturday I had thought about extending my boot while flying
down the trail and making a few cactus explosions of my own, just to keep things
interesting, but that was before spending 5 minutes removing needles from my arm. I
gave the cactus a wide berth.

The promoters decided to make only the AA and LOI riders attempt the long course
on Sunday. I breezed through the course without much trouble except a cedar branch
caught in my front wheel. The effort of untangling the branch was enough to leave me
breathless in the 6,000-foot air. Back at the truck, Matt’s bike was parked again, this
time with rear brake problems still unsolved from the previous lap. He had called it a
day and was ready to enjoy watching the fast riders on the grass track.

I treated the final ride to the terrain test as a full-on hare scramble, mostly to have
some fun and see if two days in the insanely rocky terrain would make any difference
in my quality of riding (it didn't - I arrived at the final terrain test one measly minute
sooner than the previous five times). Once again, I was slow in the test and rode
cautiously back to the grass track. Matt was waiting to take my fanny pack before I
checked into the test for my sixth and final attempt. At this point I was tired and sore
and ready to be done with the race. The helpful motivator he is, Matt mentioned that
the massage girls were back under the tent and were giving each other massages. I
jumped ahead a couple spots in the check-in line.

Dark thunderclouds were moving in, along with thunder and lightning. A crack of
thunder and an immediate lightning strike pierced through the air. My throttle hand
snapped back from the shock of the scary-close call. Matt felt it in his feet; I felt it in my
right hand, like the worst static electricity shock I've ever experienced. For a brief
instant I wondered if the lighting strike would trigger some hidden speed in the grass
track and send me tearing through the course like Wally Palmer. The check-in guy
counted down to zero and sent me on my way and one turn later, it became obvious
that the lightning had changed very little. Mostly I wanted to get off the grass track
before another lightning strike, which contributed to the final run being my best time
of the day.

I was very satisfied to finish 125 miles in two days without injury and with a flawless
bike. The KTM even looked clean. Matt and I didn't waste any time packing up as
some very cold, fat raindrops began falling. The ensuing winds would eventually take
down the big white tent and prematurely end the free massages. We were on our way
just in time for steady rains to escort us out of the Stroh ranch. I was beat and ready
for bed.

The next week we headed up into the mountains to ride the beautiful, vast trails of
Taylor Park. If you've not been to this area of Colorado, make it part of your summer
plans. This riding, along with the enduro, made for a very complete week of dirt
biking. I will be back.