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3rd of 19 in Open B
Knob Noster...the name alone made me want to see what this place was all about. The bottom half of the
MHSC schedule adds some mileage to my rapidly aging Sonoma, with several races held on the left side of
the state during this hot, sticky stretch of the series. Earlier in the week I had put the original torpedo-sized
silencer back on, noticing that the sub-frame mounting holes didn't line up very well. A few healthy blows to
the sub-frame with a sledgehammer helped line up the holes, but one of the frame welds cracked a bit.
Oops. KaTooMer maintenance at its best.
The staging area was an open field with fresh hay windrowed into straight lines across a quarter-mile
square. Knob Noster had received some rain over the weekend, causing a quagmire near the field entrance.
As with Lebanon in February, a John Deere tractor was on hand to pull out the less fortunate racers with no
four-wheel-drive. At the end of the day, the hay looked about as fresh as a rendering plant in August (a little
agribusiness humor for the 3 people in the world who will actually understand that). With one push of the
4WD button, the truck squished through a rutted waterway and I found a prime spot in front of the Pizza Man
entourage. The Pizza Mini-Thumper, an XR250 from the mid-1990's, was resurrected for Knob Noster as a
replacement for a Shake's Team racer with a broken bike (okay, it's not really a team, just a bunch of guys
who always pit together, but it sounds cool).
The usual 150% humidity, typical for Missouri in July, kept the sweat flowing like melted butter as I took a
quick look at the course around the staging area. I came back to the truck with two important questions: a)
Where's the rocks, and b) Will the water level in the creek suck down my bike like <insert crude Monica
Lewinsky metaphor here>. At least I had the new Michelin S-12 rear tire...still hanging on the wall in my
garage. Doh!! Guess the half-used Bridgestone would have to work.
I took a practice lap and found the first potential bottleneck about a mile into the course. Fast-girl (and MHSC
hottie) Amanda Lappe had already discovered a tough way up the steep bank of a small stream. I parked the
KTM and went back to help clear out some alternate routes, and Pizza Man came up from behind and pointed
to the best line. That guy is just so darned helpful. If I asked him nicely to let me pass during a race, he'd
probably think about it for a couple seconds before roosting me with the Pizza Thumper. Anyway, the first big
creek crossing was deep but passable, and when the course took us back across the same creek a few
miles down the trail, I followed a group of riders who did not notice the arrows directly across the creek on
the opposite bank. The lead rider on a Kawasaki charged upstream into flowing water that was nearly as
high as his seat. He bobbled in the rocky creek bottom and dumped his bike, completely submerging it.
Like a fool I followed the group into the deep, black rush of water, except I successfully walked the bike
through and stopped on a sand bar, looked around, and saw not a single arrow or evidence of other bikes
that had taken the same path. Gee, Einstein, think you're still on the course? After a quick scan
downstream, I saw some colored ribbon on the opposite bank where we should have crossed. So I walked
the bike back through the deep stuff, gave my condolences to the Kawasaki rider, and finished the practice
lap.
Back at the truck, I dumped a quart of water from each boot, put them back on with a duct tape seal around
the tops, and headed for the starting line. When the 15-second board dropped, I took two kicks to start the
bike and found myself at the back of a 19-rider pack. Some aggressive passing got me to mid-pack within
half a lap, and soon I found myself in a familiar spot behind Pizza Man. When he went down in some ruts, I
got around and continued my charge. Since no ATV's were racing this course, some of the trails were very
narrow and passing was a challenge. But after one lap I had moved up to 4th place and held that spot
throughout most of the race. Another guy in my class, Marty Smith, kept trading places with me, and at each
pass through the main check he was ahead of me but still within striking distance.
The course reminded me of Illinois, with tight trails sometimes carved out with a farm-type mower or cut with
a machete. The club did a great job of re-routing the bottlenecks, and it was only on the third lap that I ever
had a problem getting through any of the tough sections. One time I tried to aggressively cut around a rider
hung up on a small, slippery hill. I didn't make it either, but got up easily on the second try. On a similar hill a
bit further down the trail, I got hung up with a downed rider who decided to pick up his bike at the same
instant I was attempting to pass.
On the 4th and final lap, I passed Marty again and rode strong until he got around me at the final stretch.
During these passes and re-passes, I wasn't completely sure he was in my class, but when he got around
me in that last mile of the course, I didn't care. I was going to beat him to the scoring trailer. Most of the final
mile was riding through the center of a small creek that offered few opportunities for passing. We would ride
in the creek for a short stretch, come out, then go back in again, over and over. I tailed Marty to a spot where
we dropped back down into the creek, and he rode past the first entrance to another drop-down that had
developed as an alternate route. I decided that the only chance I had at passing him was to take the first
drop-down and charge through the water, hopefully carrying enough momentum to beat him to where he was
dropping into the creek. I put the bike in second gear and went wide-open into water about 2 feet deep.
Water splashed into my face as if I was standing under a waterfall, but I just barely edged out Marty and held
my position to the finish.
The two regular fast guys in our class took first and second place, but I held on to 3rd place by 4 seconds
over Marty (the 5th place guy was less than a minute behind) and solidified my 3rd place spot in series
points. Again, I dumped a quart of water from each boot. I felt an intense sadness upon realizing that duct
tape had failed me. But then I admired my hard-fought trophy and the pain was slightly less intense. But I
will never look at duct tape the same, ever.
August 12, 2001
Polo, Missouri
12th of 15 in Open B
Pain is my friend.
Or so I tell myself each time I make an annual visit to my friendly physician, usually on a Monday following a
bad race. The good doctor is always kind enough to skip the I-told-you-so posture and focus on curing my
ailments. This time it was the right shoulder in pain and I was certain my collarbone was broken or my
shoulder separated (or both). But Dr. Joe produced two X-rays showing no breakage, just a healthy bruise.
KaTooMer dodges another one -- here's how it all started....
Matt and I made the long drive to one of the few MHSC races north of I-70, which usually means less rocks
and tighter trails. We parked by Lars Valin and his gang, right next to twin porta-pee-holes and under a nice
shade tree. Shade good, smell of hot feces bad. We wasted no time getting setup for the practice lap and
quickly discovered very tight trails (for Missouri), a moderate amount of rocks, plenty of logs across the trail,
some dust, and a few interesting rock ledge drop-offs. One section had optional routes of "Easy" and
"Hard." Feeling up to a challenge, I chose the deceivingly "Hard" trail and soon found out why: a two-foot rock
ledge as the trail curved its way downhill. I bravely launched myself off the ledge, and just as I had nearly
recovered from the landing, a foot-high log appeared out of nowhere. A panic wheelie got me over the log
and ahead of Matt, who took the "Easy" route. So I gained about half a second in exchange for risking life and
limb and personal encounters with trees. The rest of the course was a series of woods sections linked by
open pasture areas. Pretty good course, but the start would be critical because passing appeared nearly
impossible in the woods.
I lined up next to PizzaMan and explained to him the many benefits of applying duct tape to 53% (and rising)
of the surface area of my motorcycle. I could sense his incomprehension, but one day he will understand,
probably late one night at Shake's, after one of his sorority-girl employees forgets to put the lid on the tomato
sauce, and in the dark, as he is leaving for home after a long day of cheese application and pepperoni layout
design theory (elaborate concentric circles or simplistic intersecting lines? Oh, the possibilities...), while
reaching past the olives, onions, and camshaft bearings to the broken muffler from his XR250 where he
hides the car keys from the Mizzou frat boys who initiate pledges by tying them the his tomato-shaped
delivery truck and joyriding through campus, he knocks the open jar of sauce to the floor, slips on the sweet,
red pizza-nectar, slams his head against a leftover cylinder from the 1955 Cushman scooter he took apart
"just for kicks" back in the days when engine tear-downs and pizza preparation often occurred side-by-side in
pizza joints across America, and as he sees his world spinning wildly, appearing above will be the image of
a three-headed John Stichnoth offering duct tape of all shapes, sizes, and colors, proclaiming "It's all about
the duct tape, man." Yes, then it will become crystal clear.
But I digress.
On the start, I lofted the front end high in the air, slipped into the woods about mid-pack, and proceeded to
ride as horribly as I am capable. Every third tree on that course has an imprint of the KaTooMer barkbusters.
Each time I tried a creative line to pass in the woods, a couple of guys would get around me. I managed to
drop the bike in a section of willow trees that had been cleared approximately handlebar-wide, holding up
another rider while I dragged my bike out of his way. By this time Matt and PizzaMan were long gone and I
tried to regroup. About two-thirds into the lap, I came upon a guy on a Yamaha with a severely flat rear tire
that was halfway off the rim. In an open section of pasture I began to pass him on the left, but then he moved
to the left, thinking I was passing on the right. Charging ahead in third gear, I moved farther to the left and off
the beaten path. I immediately found myself in the shallow part of a gully that became deeper and nastier by
the inch. At the exact instant I thought, "Doh!! This not good!!" the bike went into a series of contortions and
promptly sent me flying forward through the air. As they say, it's not the fall, but the landing that hurts. And
the landing was about 20 feet ahead of the bike on rough turf. I whacked my head very hard and saw the
world spinning around me while trying my best to remain conscious. After regaining my senses, I felt sharp
pains in my left shoulder and knee and was convinced I had broken my collarbone or done some other
damage to my shoulder. Somehow I got the bike upright, painfully restarted the engine and decided to
complete the lap and at least get scored for the race.
One ice pack and a quart of Gatorade later, Matt finished his race and we headed for home. Matt had a
decent race, finishing 5th in Open B. The shoulder will be sore for awhile, and the next MHSC round at
Sedalia will have to wait until next year.
