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Smithville Lake, Missouri
7th of 19 in Open B
Word to the wise: it is very helpful not only having directions to a race you've never been to before, but also
having the correct directions. Especially when it's a four hour drive each way. In Missouri, there is a slight
difference between U.S. 69 and U.S. 169. One will get you to Smithville Lake; the other will get you to Des
Moines, which is where we were headed before stopping at a gas station to get directions. Of course, Matt
and I only resort to stopping for directions after many, many miles have passed. Fortunately we only drove 30
minutes or so out of our way, but we arrived too late to do a practice lap.
On the start, I jumped out to my best first-corner position of the year, settling in behind who I assumed were
the two Open B class leaders. A mile later I blew a turn and a couple guys got around me. Same thing
happened a few miles later, and another couple guys got around me. Soon, Matt passed me, then PizzaMan.
I felt demoralized. The course was definitely not to my liking, with mostly open grass tracks, very high
speeds (numerous 5th gear WFO pasture sections), and not enough tight woods. I lost the most time in the
grass tracks that weaved back and forth, some in pastures with terraces that were fun to jump. The course
was full of thorn trees that made me look like a maximum security prison escapee after the race.
I was able to pass PizzaMan again and stayed ahead of him, but I never saw Matt again until the end of the
race. He finished about two minutes ahead of me in 4th place, his best finish this year. I fell back to 7th
place despite riding hard the whole time but not being able to master the grass tracks. A practice lap
probably would have helped, but Smithville felt like my Tebbetts of years past.
October 21, 2001
White City, Illinois
5th of 8 in Open B
Gotta hand it to the Cahokia Creek club. They know how to slowly, steadily demoralize a person. Riding the
White City enduro is like attending an Al Gore public address: somewhat interesting and moderately
entertaining for the first half-hour, then you just want to get it over with and go home. The Cahokia Creek
guys still hold to the "old school" philosophy that only the toughest, fastest guys should finish an entire
enduro course. Because of the weather, last year's race was one of the more obscenely tough enduros I've
ever attempted. This year promised to be better but still difficult due to its length. The route sheet showed
100 actual ground miles, the longest I had ever seen. During the previous week I had spent a large amount
of time and effort getting moved into a house, so mentally I wasn't as focused on the race as I would be
normally. I got about as much sleep the week before as those crazy people who compete in adventure races.
The course began with 10 miles through the club grounds over very familiar terrain (I've probably raced more
times at Cahokia Creek than at any other venue). From there, some country roads lead to woods sections
that roughly paralleled I-55. About 30 miles into the race, the course jumped to the other side of I-55 via
more country roads and then began a 20-mile jaunt through the tightest woods in Illinois. The bonus round,
had I made it that far, was a repeat run through the same 20 miles. After that, a few more miles of country
roads linked up with the club grounds and a final pass through the 10-mile section on which the course
began. Sounds easy, right?
Here's how the Cahokia Creek club makes this race such a mental challenge. The club grounds that make
up hare scrambles courses can be some of the most enjoyable I've ever ridden, other than during or
immediately after rain, when they become as slick as snow-pack. Naturally, the skies broke loose about 90
minutes before the race but didn't hurt the course. In fact, the trails were tacky and I spent most of the first 10
miles in 2nd and 3rd gear. I was on row 25 and the "AA" guys (the pros) were a couple of minutes behind
me. So I had a few chances to see how it's supposed to be done. Jeff Fredette passed me about 5 miles
into the course and I admired his fluid style for about 3 seconds before he disappeared ahead of me. The
other fast guys gradually caught up to me and I was able to do several more 3-second evaluations as they
sped by.
The second stage was where the mental challenge began. On the road section following the club grounds, I
missed a turn and went about 3 miles before realizing my mistake. So that set me back 5 minutes,
needlessly, and forced me to ride faster than I should have. Plus, the woods got real tight real fast, making it
tough to get any kind of rhythm going. The first time-consuming problem was a deep gully that became
nearly impassable. There went 10 minutes. Then I got stuck in a creek crossing...another 10 minutes lost.
Plus, the woods were mostly 1st and 2nd gear trails, the speed average was 24mph, and the checks were
few and far between. A flawless ride through this second section would have normally cost me 20-30 points
from riding too darned slow, but my foul-ups caused me to drop somewhere around 45 points in that section
alone. Even a reset and a long road section weren't enough to get me back on time before the next check.
During this stage, Lee Lankutis caught up to me in the tight stuff and I attempted to let him by around a
corner, but he came into the corner hot and dropped his bike trying to avoid me. I felt bad, but after we exited
the section and crossed I-55, he was pulled over on the road with an apparent mechanical problem.
Near the end of the second section, I noticed that my left handguard had come unscrewed at the handlebar
and was flopping uselessly. Hmmm...wondered why my left fingers were so darned sore. The first gas stop
was at some random point along a country road, 40 miles into the course. By this time I had been on the
bike about 3 hours. I found the van of the nice lady who had offered to transport my gas container to the
refueling spot. She offered me some food, but the just the thought of eating made me feel ill. While filling my
tank, I learned a lesson in proper refueling technique: when your gloves are caked with creek-bottom silt
(from one of my bike excavations), it is better to remove them before unscrewing the gas cap and guiding the
gas can nozzle into the tank. Evidently, it never occurred to me that the silt would fall off my gloves and into
the tank. I stared longingly at the fuel filter on the bike parked nearby, wishing I ever had the common sense
to put one of those on my bike. Another racer approached me and offered to let me use his spare handlebar
insert so that my hand guard would be functional again. He had broken a clutch cable and was done for the
afternoon, so his problem was my good fortune.
The third stage consisted of a long stretch of woods, including the area where I broke my ribs two years ago.
I struggled through that section, getting hung up a few more times before the trail straightened out over some
cornfields. Funny thing about the cornfields...I was only counting 15 or 20 tire tracks ahead of me, which
suggested that the attrition rate was high once again. I finally reached the culvert underpass that was very
difficult last year. It was full of water and silt, just like last year. Although I was able to navigate my way
through, the bike sunk wheel-deep at the exit. A club guy was there to help pull me out, but he watched me
struggle for about 5 minutes before lending a hand. By that time, I was confident that I would hour out at the
next check, so I rode at a trail rider pace for the next several miles.
A few miles before the final checkpoint (for me), I came upon a gully about 3 feet deep and 6 feet across.
The club had built a bridge, but it had been destroyed during the race. Four other guys were already there,
trying to decide how to get across. None of us were brave enough to attempt jumping the gap, so we each
eased our bikes down into the gully, one by one, and the team of us pushed, pulled, cursed, heaved, cursed
some more, and shoved the bikes up to the other side. After doing that 5 times, I was dead tired and limped
along until the last check. Had I not houred out, I would have repeated that whole 20-mile section and then
headed back to the club for the last 10 miles of woods. The group of us who had met at the gully rode back
to the club, where I changed clothes and took a long nap in the truck. I couldn't even move, I was so tired. My
stomach was upset, and each time I would try to walk I felt nauseous. This went on for a couple of hours.
During one period of sleep the guy who had lent me his handlebar insert came by and removed it from my
bike, but I never saw him or had a chance to say thanks.
Eventually I gathered enough strength to check my results and drive home. I slept well and felt glad to be
done with the racing season. Some day, I will conquer the White City enduro.
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All in all, it was a fairly successful year. I finished 3rd in the MHSC Open B class series, which is quite
an accomplishment considering how poorly I rode in the rocks when I moved to Missouri 3 years ago.
Next year, I hope to do even better.
