| 2006 Race Reports |
September 10, 2006
Morrison, Illinois
1st of 2 in +30A
September 10th, and two races were options on this rainy Sunday morning. I could go
back to Geneseo for the second time this year and battle with Will Heitman in a WFO
Promotions race. Or I could take in a Bill Gusse hare scramble near Morrison, Illinois.
Let me repeat four words: rainy Sunday and Bill Gusse. This would be an easy choice
for most. For me, well…I guess I was in the mood for a challenge.
Mr. Gusse tones down his MXC Series hare scrambles a bit, in comparison to the
insane obstacles that make the Moose Run famous. But he just can’t help himself.
Mr. Gusse always leaves a few well-placed impediments on every course he
designs, and the Ryan’s Farm property northeast of Morrison was no exception
A steady drizzle greeted me at the entrance and continued until just before race time. I
put off gearing up as long as I could, as it’s been awhile since I've suited up inside
my compact pickup truck and either I’m getting bigger or the truck’s getting smaller.
While I waited for the rain to let up, I overheard a lengthy conversation between a KTM
rider and the dimwitted mouse from the Pinky and the Brain cartoon series. I had no
idea the voice of Pinky was also an amateur off-road racer. The more excitable this
young man became, the more he sounded like Pinky, complete with British accent.
By the time Mr. Gusse came around on his ATV to announce the start of the race, the
rain had soaked the upper 3 inches of the dirt on the Ryan Farm. Underneath was dry
from a few weeks without moisture, but there would be only a few places where the
bikes would churn up enough muck to find waterless soil. On the starting line, the
flagman was ready to start the race when #74 Charlie Deutscher stepped off his bike,
laid it on its side and jogged back to the parking area. In motorcycle boots, jogging is
a relative term. It’s more of an awkward trot, and a slow one at that. Charlie fouled a
plug, meaning he had to cross the creek and make his way back to his truck. From
there, he hopped on a 4-stroke mini-bike and rode back to the starting line while the
rest of the racers waited. And waited some more while he changed the plug with an ill-
fitting plug wrench.
My start was a two-kicker, but slickness took its toll on the group of riders in front of
me and I fell in line with 5 others heading into the woods. A few more spinouts got me
another spot or two ahead, but soon enough the fast riders I passed on the ground
came back around. It was a day to run a gear higher and keep the rear wheel
spinning, or suffer the consequences. And many did.
Mr. Gusse’s first interesting impediment came about halfway into the course, where a
very large tree had mysteriously found itself lying horizontally, five feet off the ground
(methinks the tree had some unnatural help in its positioning). Immediately following
the tree was a small hill and a medium-sized log. One at a time, these three
obstacles would be somewhat challenging. In classic Gusse style, all three had to be
navigated at once. I rested my head on my gas tank to scrape under the overhanging
tree, slowing almost to a stop at the very instant I needed to dump the clutch and
raise the front wheel over the log on the ground. I cleared the log, barely, and opened
the throttle to spin my way up the hill.
The skilled course designer he is, Mr. Gusse insures that any alternate routes or
corner-cutting will be met with an even greater challenge. The first few times around
one wide corner, I could see a shorter route but kept missing it. About halfway through
the race I finally found the shortcut in time, gassed it up a small rise and found a V-
shaped log on the ground. I followed a rut up to the log, lofted the front wheel and
figured my momentum would carry the rear wheel over the top. It did, but not before
nearly catapulting me over the handlebars. I stuck to the beaten path.
Two more offending logs knocked me off the bike throughout the race but did no
damage other than making me look stupid. My real problem was a pair of wardrobe
malfunctions about 15 minutes into the race. Every so often my jersey, un-tucked from
my pants, works its way up my back until my Camelbak meets my skin. A few tugs
and some sticky mud eventually kept it in place. However, my brand new MSR pants
were a bit more challenging. They’d been hanging in my closet for longer than I can
remember, courtesy of an eBay buying spree a few years back. With an infinitely
adjustable Velcro belt-like thingie, they were the first pants I’d worn in a long time that
didn't slide down my skinny ass after 5 minutes of riding. But they weren't staying tight
around my waist. In fact, they were about to fall off completely. Suddenly a pre-race
memory flashed in front of my mud-caked goggles: I’d made a knee guard
adjustment at the truck, which requires pulling down the pants. And in classic
Stichnoth fashion, I’d not bothered to zip the pants and secure the waist with the
Velcro strap. Most folks would probably notice this in about three, maybe four
seconds. By the time I did, it was too late. Mud had covered the Velcro and rendered it
utterly sticky-less. All I could do was pull up the zipper and hope for the best.
The best came when John Gasso photographed me on 3 consecutive laps at the
same spot, each time showing the progression of a bike rapidly losing any
semblance of color, other than black. The worst came when I was passed by two kids
in the 100cc class. They were fast, no doubt, but it is a bit humbling to see two guys
less than half your age teach you a thing or two about mud riding.
At the end, I was glad to see the checkered flag and pull off the muddiest gear I seen
since the Leadbelt Enduro. Jason Thomas took the overall win after absolutely
destroying the course. He was the only Pro to lap me and did it on my next-to-last lap.
Gary Gibbs was the only other +30A rider brave enough to tough out the wet course.
As expected, Mr. Gusse made me work for my trophy.
September 24, 2006
Culver, Indiana
3rd of 6 in Vet A
Quilted velvet. It’s not just a British toilet paper, it’s the essence of the Plymouth
Blackhawks hare scramble. I have cursed many types of sand in my non-illustrious
amateur racing career, but on this day I chose wisely. Weekend rains wreaked havoc
on the black clay of Illinois, leaving me with no better option than to venture into the
sand hills of Northwest Indiana for the first time since the Roselawn enduro in April.
I left Chicago at 8:00 a.m., expecting to arrive at the race site around 10:00, which I did
in spite of the I-90 Skyway nearly baiting me into driving off the elevated roadway
(continuous, monotonous construction, as usual, on every roadway leading into and
out of Indiana). I asked the signup crew what time the race would begin, and they said
12:00, with an emphasis on Eastern time. Once again, Indiana nearly screwed me. I
stepped up the pace and readied myself to ride.
The A classes lined up on the front row, blasted through a mowed grass loop and
circled into the woods. Another mid-pack start set me out on the grass/sand track with
the 20 or so guys on my row, spreading us out and leaving some on the ground,
including an unfortunate guy writhing in pain where we crossed over a sand road. His
bike could have been on a solo ride to Plymouth for all I knew, as it was nowhere to
be seen. Inside the woods, the soil alternated between slimy, sandy, and sticky.
About 7 or 8 guys were ahead of me, including two in my class who I’d not see again.
The old guys in Indiana can ride.
We followed a sandy gulch and crossed it in an inconspicuous spot where the beaten
path continued straight ahead. Several riders, including me on the following lap,
would fly by the arrows leading us through the gully. Some, such as the B-rider
parked next to me, would keep going despite the obvious lack of arrows and join up
with the A riders where the beaten path converged with the arrowed trail. I met up with
my parking lot neighbor at this convergence and he apparently realized his mistake
and let me by quickly.
The Culver hare scramble is a nice change from the shorter courses of Illinois, with a
7 or 8 mile loop. Though the soil is sandy, there are only a few sections of sand
whoops and none feel as endless as what is common at Roselawn. But climbing up
out of the main waterless gulch through the property would become a challenge later
in the race. Already on the first lap, riders were digging out a deep sand trench that
would eventually rival the ruts of the infamous Le Touquet beach race in France.
If there is such a thing as slalom in the woods, I found it in one short section of
woods. Each time through, it was a smooth, slightly bermed alternation of sharp (but
not too sharp) left and right turns. On the KX, the slalom was excellent. Also excellent:
no significant mud holes and only a tricky pair of logs in a sand gully to create
potential for hang-ups.
The 4 laps I completed in 1.5 hours were almost routine. I made a few passes, got
passed a couple times and had no problems with lappers. Two hours would have
been even better. I did fall over a couple times getting used to tight, sandy corners, but
other than that I damaged neither bike nor body. In the end, I missed out on a trophy
for the first time in awhile but drove home totally satisfied.
Morrison, Illinois
1st of 2 in +30A
September 10th, and two races were options on this rainy Sunday morning. I could go
back to Geneseo for the second time this year and battle with Will Heitman in a WFO
Promotions race. Or I could take in a Bill Gusse hare scramble near Morrison, Illinois.
Let me repeat four words: rainy Sunday and Bill Gusse. This would be an easy choice
for most. For me, well…I guess I was in the mood for a challenge.
Mr. Gusse tones down his MXC Series hare scrambles a bit, in comparison to the
insane obstacles that make the Moose Run famous. But he just can’t help himself.
Mr. Gusse always leaves a few well-placed impediments on every course he
designs, and the Ryan’s Farm property northeast of Morrison was no exception
A steady drizzle greeted me at the entrance and continued until just before race time. I
put off gearing up as long as I could, as it’s been awhile since I've suited up inside
my compact pickup truck and either I’m getting bigger or the truck’s getting smaller.
While I waited for the rain to let up, I overheard a lengthy conversation between a KTM
rider and the dimwitted mouse from the Pinky and the Brain cartoon series. I had no
idea the voice of Pinky was also an amateur off-road racer. The more excitable this
young man became, the more he sounded like Pinky, complete with British accent.
By the time Mr. Gusse came around on his ATV to announce the start of the race, the
rain had soaked the upper 3 inches of the dirt on the Ryan Farm. Underneath was dry
from a few weeks without moisture, but there would be only a few places where the
bikes would churn up enough muck to find waterless soil. On the starting line, the
flagman was ready to start the race when #74 Charlie Deutscher stepped off his bike,
laid it on its side and jogged back to the parking area. In motorcycle boots, jogging is
a relative term. It’s more of an awkward trot, and a slow one at that. Charlie fouled a
plug, meaning he had to cross the creek and make his way back to his truck. From
there, he hopped on a 4-stroke mini-bike and rode back to the starting line while the
rest of the racers waited. And waited some more while he changed the plug with an ill-
fitting plug wrench.
My start was a two-kicker, but slickness took its toll on the group of riders in front of
me and I fell in line with 5 others heading into the woods. A few more spinouts got me
another spot or two ahead, but soon enough the fast riders I passed on the ground
came back around. It was a day to run a gear higher and keep the rear wheel
spinning, or suffer the consequences. And many did.
Mr. Gusse’s first interesting impediment came about halfway into the course, where a
very large tree had mysteriously found itself lying horizontally, five feet off the ground
(methinks the tree had some unnatural help in its positioning). Immediately following
the tree was a small hill and a medium-sized log. One at a time, these three
obstacles would be somewhat challenging. In classic Gusse style, all three had to be
navigated at once. I rested my head on my gas tank to scrape under the overhanging
tree, slowing almost to a stop at the very instant I needed to dump the clutch and
raise the front wheel over the log on the ground. I cleared the log, barely, and opened
the throttle to spin my way up the hill.
The skilled course designer he is, Mr. Gusse insures that any alternate routes or
corner-cutting will be met with an even greater challenge. The first few times around
one wide corner, I could see a shorter route but kept missing it. About halfway through
the race I finally found the shortcut in time, gassed it up a small rise and found a V-
shaped log on the ground. I followed a rut up to the log, lofted the front wheel and
figured my momentum would carry the rear wheel over the top. It did, but not before
nearly catapulting me over the handlebars. I stuck to the beaten path.
Two more offending logs knocked me off the bike throughout the race but did no
damage other than making me look stupid. My real problem was a pair of wardrobe
malfunctions about 15 minutes into the race. Every so often my jersey, un-tucked from
my pants, works its way up my back until my Camelbak meets my skin. A few tugs
and some sticky mud eventually kept it in place. However, my brand new MSR pants
were a bit more challenging. They’d been hanging in my closet for longer than I can
remember, courtesy of an eBay buying spree a few years back. With an infinitely
adjustable Velcro belt-like thingie, they were the first pants I’d worn in a long time that
didn't slide down my skinny ass after 5 minutes of riding. But they weren't staying tight
around my waist. In fact, they were about to fall off completely. Suddenly a pre-race
memory flashed in front of my mud-caked goggles: I’d made a knee guard
adjustment at the truck, which requires pulling down the pants. And in classic
Stichnoth fashion, I’d not bothered to zip the pants and secure the waist with the
Velcro strap. Most folks would probably notice this in about three, maybe four
seconds. By the time I did, it was too late. Mud had covered the Velcro and rendered it
utterly sticky-less. All I could do was pull up the zipper and hope for the best.
The best came when John Gasso photographed me on 3 consecutive laps at the
same spot, each time showing the progression of a bike rapidly losing any
semblance of color, other than black. The worst came when I was passed by two kids
in the 100cc class. They were fast, no doubt, but it is a bit humbling to see two guys
less than half your age teach you a thing or two about mud riding.
At the end, I was glad to see the checkered flag and pull off the muddiest gear I seen
since the Leadbelt Enduro. Jason Thomas took the overall win after absolutely
destroying the course. He was the only Pro to lap me and did it on my next-to-last lap.
Gary Gibbs was the only other +30A rider brave enough to tough out the wet course.
As expected, Mr. Gusse made me work for my trophy.
September 24, 2006
Culver, Indiana
3rd of 6 in Vet A
Quilted velvet. It’s not just a British toilet paper, it’s the essence of the Plymouth
Blackhawks hare scramble. I have cursed many types of sand in my non-illustrious
amateur racing career, but on this day I chose wisely. Weekend rains wreaked havoc
on the black clay of Illinois, leaving me with no better option than to venture into the
sand hills of Northwest Indiana for the first time since the Roselawn enduro in April.
I left Chicago at 8:00 a.m., expecting to arrive at the race site around 10:00, which I did
in spite of the I-90 Skyway nearly baiting me into driving off the elevated roadway
(continuous, monotonous construction, as usual, on every roadway leading into and
out of Indiana). I asked the signup crew what time the race would begin, and they said
12:00, with an emphasis on Eastern time. Once again, Indiana nearly screwed me. I
stepped up the pace and readied myself to ride.
The A classes lined up on the front row, blasted through a mowed grass loop and
circled into the woods. Another mid-pack start set me out on the grass/sand track with
the 20 or so guys on my row, spreading us out and leaving some on the ground,
including an unfortunate guy writhing in pain where we crossed over a sand road. His
bike could have been on a solo ride to Plymouth for all I knew, as it was nowhere to
be seen. Inside the woods, the soil alternated between slimy, sandy, and sticky.
About 7 or 8 guys were ahead of me, including two in my class who I’d not see again.
The old guys in Indiana can ride.
We followed a sandy gulch and crossed it in an inconspicuous spot where the beaten
path continued straight ahead. Several riders, including me on the following lap,
would fly by the arrows leading us through the gully. Some, such as the B-rider
parked next to me, would keep going despite the obvious lack of arrows and join up
with the A riders where the beaten path converged with the arrowed trail. I met up with
my parking lot neighbor at this convergence and he apparently realized his mistake
and let me by quickly.
The Culver hare scramble is a nice change from the shorter courses of Illinois, with a
7 or 8 mile loop. Though the soil is sandy, there are only a few sections of sand
whoops and none feel as endless as what is common at Roselawn. But climbing up
out of the main waterless gulch through the property would become a challenge later
in the race. Already on the first lap, riders were digging out a deep sand trench that
would eventually rival the ruts of the infamous Le Touquet beach race in France.
If there is such a thing as slalom in the woods, I found it in one short section of
woods. Each time through, it was a smooth, slightly bermed alternation of sharp (but
not too sharp) left and right turns. On the KX, the slalom was excellent. Also excellent:
no significant mud holes and only a tricky pair of logs in a sand gully to create
potential for hang-ups.
The 4 laps I completed in 1.5 hours were almost routine. I made a few passes, got
passed a couple times and had no problems with lappers. Two hours would have
been even better. I did fall over a couple times getting used to tight, sandy corners, but
other than that I damaged neither bike nor body. In the end, I missed out on a trophy
for the first time in awhile but drove home totally satisfied.
Morrison, Illinois
Culver, Indiana
Culver, Indiana
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