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Roselawn, Indiana
DNF
In a way, this enduro reminded me of White City last year. Problems from the start, and then I got hurt. At
Roselawn, the bike fired up on the first kick, then died after about three seconds, and then refused to start.
Naturally, this occurred ten minutes before I was scheduled to start the race. A quick change of the spark
plug produced no better results, and fuel was reaching the carb, so I was stumped. The guys parked next to
me rode KTM's and offered another plug, and even installed it for me while I continued cursing. My starting
time came and went, and as I talked with the guys helping me out, a dreadful thought came to my mind:
Could I have forgotten to remove the two paper towels stuffed into the intake side of the carb while the air
filter was being cleaned and oiled the day before? That would explain my problems, but oh what a
bonehead mistake that would be! I opened the airbox door, peeled back the air filter, and holy sh#@, there
were the two paper towels blocking all airflow into the carb. By this time I was about 10 minutes late for the
start, which put me out of trophy contention before I traveled a foot down the trail.
So now I'm basically trail riding, figuring I'd catch up to Ryan Baker (the Bourbonnais guy I rode with at this
race in April) and his buddy Jeff (also from the Kankakee area) somewhere down the trail (we all rode on the
same minute). After the first 8-mile section through the nudist woods there was a long break back at the
setup area before heading out on the road, and it was there I discovered my steering head was loose. I
pulled out of the staging area about 5 minutes late and made up 4 minutes by the next check. As I passed
through the check I could make out Ryan and Jeff heading the opposite direction down a dirt road, which
seemed strange, especially after it took me about 10 more minutes to get to where they were at. I caught up
to them on a paved road section, told them my story, let them laugh at me for awhile, and then asked them
why they were so far ahead of me. Answer: they were 8 minutes early to the last check. In an enduro, early
means very bad, and a little quick-in-the-head math equals 37 dropped points right there!! Who's laughing
now, speedy?!? My airbox incident cost me about 20 points total (two checks before the first reset), so I was
still beating them. Now we were all trail riding.
I kept Ryan and Jeff on time (or at least not early) for the next few sections, but we were all getting beat up
from being some of the earliest riders to go through the trails. At Roselawn, the club guys take machetes
and hack a patch wide enough to walk through, and that's your trail. Jeff was the fastest of our group, so he
lead for awhile, and then we traded off. Just before the gas stop, Ryan got hung up and I got around him,
but then at the gas stop we didn't see him and figured he had problems. Jeff and I took off with me leading,
and in the next section I smacked my arm against a tree. I had to slow down and let Jeff by, and limped
along in first gear for what seemed like 5 miles before the next road section. After that I rode back to my
truck with a very sore, very swollen arm. I had it X-rayed back in St. Louis but it was not broken. The DNF
was disappointing, though.
August 27, 2000
Sedalia, Missouri
5th of 9 in Open B
These Missouri races tend to get repetitive after awhile. Always rocky, usually dry, and definitely hot. Sedalia
is about 3 hours from home, but at least Matt came along so the ride didn't seem as long. Even though it
was pouring rain when I left, Sedalia was dry as a bone. Matt has a pop-up awning that is great for providing
a shady place to sit while waiting for the race to start. For the second time in a row, we parked next to a guy
named Lars who rides the 250 B class and drives an old Honda or Acura or some little car with a trailer (and
has a Colorado license plate). The practice lap was not too bad, but I could tell the heat was going to be a
problem. I forgot to put on my elbow guards, so naturally I bumped my sore arm against a little twig of a
tree, and it was hurting again. At the starting line, I was lined up next to Pizza Man. I'm not sure what his real
first name is, but that's what he goes by. It's even listed that way on the scoring system. He's a nice guy,
owns a pizza joint called Shakespeare's Pizza (hence the name, Pizza Man). He noticed that my chest
protector wasn't fastened and got me hooked up. Thanks, Pizza Man.
At the start, the regular fast guy in the Open B class, Cookie Monster, jumped into the lead, followed by Matt,
Pizza Man, me, and another guy. Cookie Monster leads in the point standings, mostly because he's fast and
goes to every race. His last name is hard to spell and pronounce (kinda like mine), but it sort of sounds like
Cookie Monster, so that's what they call him. Maybe someday I'll race enough Missouri events to get a
nickname. Something easy to remember, like "That Guy Who Crashes Alot."
Anyway, I settled in the dust and eventually worked my way past Pizza Man, and then caught up to Matt after
he got hung up on a log. Later on I crashed on my sore arm and Pizza Man got around me again. That's
about when I started running out of energy. I hadn't worked out much since Roselawn, and on the last lap I
was just trying to finish. Towards the end, I could hear what sounded like Matt from behind, but I figured
there was no way he could have caught me. I'm in much better shape than him, right? Wrong. Two
hundred yards from the finish line he came roaring by me and took 4th place by a couple of seconds. I
learned a valuable lesson, but it still pissed me off that I lost bragging rights. Our buddy Lars got second in
the 250 B class. Matt and I were both shut out of the trophies and went home, dead tired and blowing out
dust boogers the whole way.
