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My first work experience
Sometimes I'm not a very forward thinker. On Saturday morning prior to the event, I was still nursing a sore
shoulder and was in no condition to race, instead planning to spend a lazy Sunday as the Matt Sellers Chief
Executive Head of Mechanical, Nutritional and Gastro-Intestinal Functions at the Sedalia hare scramble. My
duties were to include tool arrangement, beef jerky selection, and providing adequate supplies for Matt's
customary pre-race port-a-potty visitation. But then a thought occurred...why not work the race and get Work
Average points for this round of the series? For most of the day I exchanged messages with the race
promoter, and finally talked to him via cell phone at 9:00 on Saturday night. He said no problem, just show
up at 7:30 on Sunday morning and work both races. Doing the math in my head, I figured I would have to
leave at about 4:15 a.m. to arrive on time. Oh boy....
The adrenaline rush of the 4:00 a.m. wakeup lasted approximately 23 seconds. I threw on some clothes,
brushed my teeth, shoved five Mountain Dew's into my 6-pack cooler, asked myself why the hell this sport
means so much to me, and pulled out of the garage at 4:18 a.m. Two Dew's and 3 hours later I arrived at the
race site and reported for duty. My first job was to help back up the computer scores by writing down the
numbers of the ATV riders as they passed by the scoring trailer. The shady spot I picked out beside the
trailer provided what I thought was a safe vantage point to yell out the numbers to the guy on my left who was
recording them on paper. The scoring lane had been marked with multi-colored ribbon that directed riders
through a 90-degree turn just before the scoring trailer. As the race wore on and the riders tired, guys began
edging closer and closer to the 5-foot metal posts that were used to hold up the ribbon. With time running
out, one exhausted rider slammed his left wheel into the post I was standing next to, and had the post not
been there, he would have taken me for a ride.
For the motorcycle race I was placed at the first checkpoint about one mile into the course. Two other guys
were on hand to help check the riders, along with one of the sweep riders who on the first lap stood in the
creek and directed the bikes into the ribbon-marked area where we were set up. To get to the check, the
riders had to cross foot-deep water, ride over about 30 feet of a flat, slippery rock ledge, and then climb up
the 10-foot creek bank. After conquering that obstacle, they encountered our checkpoint, where they were to
shout out their rider numbers as they negotiated the 180-degree cattle-like chute where we were stationed.
At that point I would scribble on paper their numbers in order of passing, again and again throughout the
race. About 170 riders entered the event, so I was very busy for the 2+ hours of racing.
On the first lap we could hear the Pro riders flying down the creek bed and prepared ourselves for 15
seconds of hell broken loose as they charged up the creek bank. I found a new appreciation for the
volunteers who man the checkpoints at these races. Imagine 15-20 riders launching themselves up the
bank, one behind the other in a train of aggression, shouting out numbers, deafening engines, wheels
kicking up dirt and mud, and me straining to read a small number printed on each person's helmet. The
most challenging were the C and Beginner classes, which were large and closely spaced on the first lap.
With more and more riders crossing the creek, the bank became damp and very slick, causing some
bottlenecks as the less experienced riders struggled up the greasy slope. On their own, all of the riders
were capable of climbing the bank, but while following each, small mistakes led to fallen bikes and traffic
problems. Fortunately there were no injuries from the mishaps, but a few people put themselves into
precarious positions. One guy on a CR80 fell over just after ascending the creek bank and killed the engine.
While the little racer struggled to right the bike and restart the engine, I walked over to suggest that he turn off
the fuel and get the flooded carb cleaned out. At the last moment I held back from offering this advice,
making use of the four recreational years of my life that some would describe as "college," and concluded
that a "little guy" with a mustache was probably not a Junior class racer in need of guidance. A regular
Stephen Hawking, that's me.
In the Pro class, Aaron Shaw led most of the way, followed by Brandon Forrester as the lead group passed
through our check on their 5th and final lap. After trailing in third position for nearly all of the race, Steve
Leivan closed the gap and passed both guys on the last lap for the overall win. As the defending MHSC
champion, Steve's number was pretty easy to hear as he shouted "ONE!" each time he passed by. Steve
showed off a solid racing strategy at Sedalia, riding a steady (some would say "insanely fast"), controlled
pace and keeping in sight of the leaders while saving just enough juice on the last lap to make some moves
and win the race. I thoroughly enjoyed working the Sedalia race and want to thank George, Allen, David (the
promoter), and Richard for getting me where I needed to be and showing me how it's done. It was fun to see
Matt, PizzaMan, and Lars pass by and give them some encouraging words. For anyone who has raced but
never worked an event, I would highly recommend it.
September 16, 2001
St. Joe State Park
Park Hills, Missouri
2nd of 18 in Open B
After a long 5-week hiatus, I was ready to get back into the racing scene. What better way to test out my
still-recovering shoulder than to compete in a 3-hour National hare scramble. As we used to say back on the
farm, that's like stuffin' the pig through the python. Or something like that. I'm not sure how that relates to
what I was just talking about, but it sounded kind of cool. Anyway, I had ridden at St. Joe the weekend before
and felt minimal pain (with the help of a large dose of Ibuprofen, the Wonder Drug), or at least not enough
cause any tree-smacking distractions. I had also been training on the mountain bike, so I felt ready to get
back on the motorcycle and resume torturing my body.
Matt and I drove down to Flat River in the big Dodge and pitted next to the sand track. St. Joe is a punishing
place to ride because speeds are higher and the rocks are plentiful and come in all shapes and sizes. If the
trail is fresh and rock-free on the first lap, you can be sure that on the next lap it will break down into a choppy,
rutted rock garden, causing relentless pounding on all body parts, high potential for pinch flats, and even
higher potential for expression of colorful metaphors. When conditions are dry, as they were on this day, you
can throw in some blinding dust. The only thing missing was temperatures in the 90's, and come to think of
it, this was the first hare scramble I had ever raced at Flat River without scorching heat. With no practice lap
for this race, Matt and I hung out at the truck and leisurely took our time getting ready (although I did rush to
beat him to the porta-potty, used up the last of the T.P., and quietly giggled while he searched for anything in
the truck remotely suitable as a substitute).
For the National race, the 250 B and Open B classes were combined on row 6 of the starting area. Matt and I
lined up next to Andy Mueller, a regular in the Open B class, and watched as a guy in the Pro class went
down in the first corner and got run over by guys following blindly in the dust (he didn't get up). After a couple
minute delay for the promoters to move the first corner away from the injured rider, the next rows began
taking off. Our row consisted of 29 guys, all aiming for the same corner about 100 yards off the starting line.
When the 15-second board dropped, my bike fired up on the first kick but with all the noise of 29 engines
starting at the same time, I couldn't quite tell if my engine was running. After half a second I could feel the
familiar, hand-numbing motor vibration emerging from my KTM, but my slight hesitation before dumping the
clutch was just enough to set me back in the pack amidst a cloud of dust. The first mile was open sand, and
at times I was riding completely blind, occasionally catching a glimpse of a rider ahead of me and staying
within the general course of direction. The dust settled a bit at the entrance to the woods, where the trail
followed a recognizable path from the hare scramble earlier this year. The riders ahead of me were still
kicking up enough dust to make it hard to see the smaller details of the trail, including some very
sharp-edged rocks that I hit hard in third gear. I could feel the front rim make direct contact with a particularly
nasty, square-edged, softball-sized rock and was sure the tube would be pinched. But the flat tire I expected
never came, and I continued my charge.
The goal in any dusty race is to find clean air, which means getting ahead of the person in front of you.
Easier said than done, especially when you can't see much of the trail while in their dust. But midway into
the first lap the field spread out and I found my rhythm. The promoters put in a cool section that took us under
a 4-lane highway bridge, and then eventually we crossed under a culvert to get back to the other side of the
highway [Editor's note: O.K., it wasn't actually a bridge we went under, as Matt was quick to point out. Just
some strange old relic that used to be part of the lead mine. But is sure looked like a bridge...]. Also included
for our pleasure was a punishing rock garden, borrowed from the Leadbelt Enduro last May. The final 3-4
miles was a fast section down a power line trail that was a roller coaster on the ground.
The first of the 16-mile laps took me about 45 minutes to complete, which suggested I would get 4 laps and
would pit once near the end of lap 2. About halfway into the first lap I ran straight into a tree, but somehow
kept the bike upright and didn't lose much time. In the second lap I tried to launch myself over some tree
roots lying diagonally across the trail but got out of control and hit another tree very solidly. I dropped the bike
but it kept running, so I remounted and continued riding without losing much time. After that, I decided that I
would not run into any more trees. When pitted near the end of my second lap, I could see that Matt had not
stopped yet to gas, so I figured I was ahead of him.
The laps seemed to go by fast, even though they were long and were getting rougher each time. At the end
of lap 3, Shane Watts passed me just as I exited the long power line section. Because the area in which he
lapped me was very open, his pass was much less impressive than it was earlier in the year at Kahoka. But
the guy does ride fast. On lap 4 the other pro riders caught up to me in the nasty rock garden. With their
fancy foam tubes, they flew through that section without a single thought of pinch flats. Past the halfway point
in the final lap, Steve Leivan was the first MHSC regular to lap me. By that time my lower back was starting to
ache, and I was glad to finally come to the power line section for the last time. I finished the lap at the 3:17
mark, tired but not as sore as expected. Matt followed about 15 minutes later. We were both so tired that we
decided not to wait for the results to be posted and headed for home. The next day when PizzaMan told me I
finished second, I was pretty happy. But when the results were posted on the internet, I discovered that a few
Open B regulars in the MHSC series had ridden in the Open A class and had finished ahead of me, so in
terms of series points, I had finished 5th. Even so, I now have 11 solid scores to count for the MHSC series,
which will hopefully be good enough to maintain my 3rd place standing.
As I write this, the weather is turning cooler, the season is winding down, and I am a week away from closing
on a house. I've been an apartment dweller for over 8 years and will finally have a 2-car garage in which to
begin building my dream shop. PizzaMan already has me drooling over his real-life fantasy shop at Pizza
Headquarters near Columbia, Missouri. The wheels are turning in my head....
