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Combs, Arkansas
Earlier this month, regular riding biddy Matt Sellers drove to somewhere in the vicinity of
Nowhere, Georgia to buy SETRA fast guy Mike Grizzle’s 6-month-old KTM 450EXC. Apparently
Matt’s itch for long drives didn’t wear off in time for the White Rock Enduro, as 10 days in
advance of the event he lobbied for a road trip to his first ever enduro. I’m always game for
road trips, especially when they involve college towns, cheap motels and someone else doing
the driving, so I threw our entry forms in the mail and made plans for a weekend in Razorback
country.
We hooked up with Edwardsville, Illinois’ resident enduro specialist Kevin Betts, active this
year in the BlackJack Enduro Circuit. No stranger to long road trips, Kevin competed two
weeks prior in the muddy Zink Ranch Enduro near Sand Springs, Oklahoma. He offered to
drive, so we met at my house on Saturday, loaded our bikes and gear into Kevin’s enclosed
trailer and began the 6-hour voyage to Fayetteville, home of the University of Arkansas. My
stellar navigation skills guided us to Springdale, just north of Fayetteville and home of Tyson
Foods, where we took a small detour and stumbled upon Tyson’s world headquarters. With my
agribusiness curiosity satisfied, we focused our efforts on settling in at the Super 8 and tried to
get a good night’s rest.
Since I had sent in our entry forms so late, I figured we had two options: a late row or an early
row. There’s good and bad with each option, but I asked for an earlier row because over the
years I’ve had worse experiences with late rows. At Roselawn, Indiana in 1996, in what I
believe was the last of the infamous Swamp years, I was blessed with an early row and got to
navigate the muck before 200 other guys messed it up (I still managed to bury the bike in a 3-
foot bike-swallowing rut). On the other hand, at Marietta, Illinois in 1999 I was cursed with a
late row and got what was left over after 100 guys had already destroyed the waterlogged
trails. Usually these advance requests for particular rows are generally honored as much as
the club can, but you only find out your row number for sure when you get there. As it turned
out, my wish was granted, sort of: Row 1. Yep, that’s definitely an early row. I was “1A”; Matt
was “1B”. Also on our row was fast guy Jerry Hemann, an occasional Missouri hare scrambles
participant. Kevin Betts was on row 30, a half-hour behind us. After Matt and I left the trailer,
that was the last we would see of Kevin until the end of the race.
The Razorback Riders, organizers of the event, had set up the staging area in a picturesque
valley in the Ozark Mountains. A creek flowed through the property, and just across a wooden
bridge was the starting line. As the minutes counted down to our departure, 8:00 came and
went and I wondered why we hadn’t left yet (Clock Error Clue #1). At 8:01 on my clock, the
“01” card on the signboard was turned over, signaling the start of our race. The experienced
enduro riders reading this will recognize my mistake immediately, but for everyone else, we’ll
get to that later. Jerry showed up at the last minute and the three of us were set loose to begin
an easy, 18-mph section.
This first section was mostly ATV trails that were still slightly damp. It was a good warm-up and
much needed, as I was getting used to the KTM again after riding it only about two hours over
the prior 6 months. And being the first group of riders to see the trails, we were doing our best
to clear off the rocks and splash water out of the ruts for the rest of the field (I was quite good
at it). White Rock is an appropriate name for this area, with many rocks and not surprisingly,
some of them are white. After about 8 miles, we finally hit some singletrack winding through
cedar trees and I was confident there would be a check upcoming. Even though Jerry had an
ICO Checkmate computer, the Cadillac of enduro timekeeping devices, its clock was off about
45 seconds from mine (Clock Error Clue #2). With Matt being an enduro virgin and Jerry
thinking his computer’s clock was off, I was elected Chief Timekeeper by the group. When it
comes to timekeeping, I do it Old School style, with a clock, odometer and roll chart the tools of
my trade. I had been keeping us right at the top of our minute, figuring there’d have to be
something a little more difficult than ATV trails before the first check. For me, second-gear
trails are usually difficult to maintain 18 miles per hour, so I figured we would hit the singletrack
in the top of our minute and maybe by the first check we’d lose some time but still be within our
minute and not drop any points.
I figured wrong.
Jerry and I took off into the singletrack, which didn’t last long before we came upon the first
check. We inexplicably showed up 10 seconds early, while Matt arrived just long enough after
us to not drop any points (Clock Error Clue #3). The Enduro Virgin got lucky. After a reset, we
spent some more time riding easy trails until late in the loop, where we dropped down into the
same trail where we had began the enduro nearly an hour before. We had been warned that
this short section of trail would have two-way traffic, and sure enough, guys were coming up
the hill as we were descending. We narrowly avoided the oncoming traffic before arrows
diverted us into an extremely tight section of saplings near the creek at the Razorback
property. I could sense we were on pace to drop a point or two by the time the loop ended. We
crossed through the creek near the wood bridge, where the loop ended back at the staging
area and the second check awaited us. Despite our slow progress in the tight trails at the end
of the loop, I zeroed the check (Clock Error Clue #4).
After a gas stop and a snack, we began the longest loop of the day, about 35 miles. We
continued at an 18 mph average for the first couple miles of the section, then increased to 24
mph for the next 9 miles of mostly singletrack. At the start of the 24 mph section I let Jerry lead
and kept him in sight long enough to see him crash. I believe that was where he destroyed
radiator shroud #2 (only half of the first shroud remained from an earlier incident). I went on
ahead and Jerry caught up a short while later. We stayed together for a few more miles, where
the trail dumped us out into a logging road. We were hauling down the road and got back on
time quickly. Jerry motioned to me in what I thought was a question of how we were doing on
time, and I motioned back to keep on rolling since we were back in the top of our minute. He
finally came to a stop and suggested that since we hadn’t seen arrows in over a mile, we just
might be off course. Oh, yeah…arrows. We backtracked and located arrows, losing several
minutes in the process. The singletrack prior to the road crossing had swept to the right and
we had followed the “sweep” into the road, when we should have gone straight across the
road and continued on more singletrack. By this time we were confident Matt was well ahead of
us and were dismayed not to see him at a lengthy reset a few miles later. He had surely
continued on, thinking that as long as he didn’t get ahead of us, he was fine.
After conveying our thoughts about arrow placement to the nearest human being who didn’t
ignore us (hey, you gotta vent at someone), Jerry and I rested until it was time to continue on.
A check awaited us shortly after and I accidentally checked us in early. We found Matt stopped
on the trail and explained what happened. He burned the check by nearly 15 minutes. We
rode at 18 mph for the next 20 miles after the long reset, with several miles on top of a ridge
that was cleared of trees. Just before the long ridge section, we had splashed through a lot of
standing water on a logging road and my fingers were cold. But the view from atop the ridge
was spectacular. The elevation changes, from the valleys below to the tops of the ridges,
appeared to be 500 feet or more, which for this flatlander was the highest hills I had ever
ridden. The climbs seemed to go on forever and the descents were fun but sometimes
treacherous, especially where water breaks had been built for erosion control. Going up hills, I
could launch the bike blindly over the water breaks and risk landing on who knows what. On
the way down, it was just a matter of how fast I wanted to go, how far I wanted to launch the
bike over the water breaks, and of course the size of my pelotas.
The 18 mph average finally changed to 24 mph for the last 5.4 miles before the end of the
short course. These last miles were a repeat of what we had already ridden to finish out the
first loop. Jerry and I rode hard, with Matt close behind. The trails reminded me of St. Joe State
Park, fast, open, and full of rocks. After riding this section as fast and aggressively as I am
humanly capable, back at the staging area Jerry mentioned that we were riding those trails at
a speed just under what it takes to get seriously injured. Coming from a AA rider, I took that as
a compliment. We both dropped one point at the check that awaited us on the other side of
the creek. Fifty miles down, 25 to go.
Back at the staging area, we gassed up for a second time and headed back out for the third
and final loop of the day, a 25-mile section that was entirely 24 mph. We started on some dirt
roads and Jerry jumped out ahead. He was getting a little further ahead of time that I wanted to
be, so I let him go and he was soon out of my sight. The trails were relatively open and fast
once we got into the woods, and from there on out it was a sprint. And sprint I did, reaching
the next check right on time. Jerry sprinted a little too hard and burned the check. The three of
us stayed together for a little while after that, but then Jerry found his groove and left me, while
Matt hung around behind me. After a couple more miles I couldn’t hear the sound of Matt’s 4-
stroke anymore. It was just me and the trail. The hills became steeper and rockier and were
full of water breaks. About 10 miles into the loop, I came around a corner and saw a big hill
with a big rock ledge in the middle and a big bunch of spectators lining both sides of the trail.
At enduros you rarely see such crowds unless they are there to watch something interesting,
and in this case the rock ledge was there for the spectators’ viewing pleasure. And I was there
to entertain. I went to the far left side of the trail to attempt to scale the ledge, and probably
would have made it had I not landed directly on top of a boulder and come to a complete stop.
I had nowhere to plant my feet, so I jumped off and let the bike fall over. As the right
handguard smacked solid rock, the sound of the impact drew reaction from the crowd. I pulled
the bike off the rock ledge and saw Matt at the bottom of the hill. He paused to let me get my
bike upright and then I heard his engine surge and die. I thought he killed the engine, but as
photos would later prove, he dumped his bike (out of sympathy, I’m sure). I took off for another
attempt at scaling the ledge, this time on the right side. The second try was successful and the
spectators roared with approval as I blasted through boulder after boulder on the way to the
top of a very long hill.
By now I was tired and ready for the race to end, but the Razorback crew had saved the worst
for last. The next couple of miles were mostly singletrack strewn with boulders, big, small, and
otherwise. The KTM proved itself in this section, allowing me to ride like a wimp and still keep
chugging along. My race mercifully ended at about the 70-ground-mile mark, where Jerry
Hemann was waiting for me. We headed back to the staging area on the same trail we had
already ridden twice, thinking we were surely lost. We kept on following the arrows for nearly 5
miles until we finally came out at the creek crossing at the Razorback grounds.
Matt showed up several minutes later holding his left hand. Somewhere after Spectator Hill, he
fell and broke the end of his thumb. Due to our mistakes, we were both out of contention for
decent finishes and even though Matt got hurt, we still had a great time riding somewhere we’d
never been before. It was only when the scores were posted on the internet that I realized my
critical timekeeping mistake: My clock was set a minute early. Of the 9 checks that counted
(one was thrown out), I was early to four. And at two of those four checks I was two minutes
early. Ouch. I had failed in my duty as Chief Timekeeper. Had I set my clock correctly, I may
have still legitimately burned two checks, but dropping so many points put me pretty far down
the bottom of my class. But I didn’t really care. I was there to have fun and I wasn’t
disappointed. Thanks to the Razorback Riders for putting on an excellent event.
March 28, 2004
Belleville, Illinois
1st of 4 in Vet
Who in their right mind would race at Belleville, following a week of intermittent rains and a
forecast for more on Sunday?
To understand that question, you have to know a thing or two about the Belleville Enduro
Team club grounds. Depending on the weather, you can have a lot of fun or wish you had
stayed home. It’s good or bad, pleasure or pain, filet or head cheese, Jessica Simpson or
Courtney Love, and it all depends on the weather. And on Sunday morning it didn’t look good.
But that didn’t stop me from putting the KX to its first test in real mud, and Belleville is the real
deal.
I parked next to Joe Rosier and his son Keifer, a regular in the MHSC Junior class. Like me,
Keifer was using this race as a warm-up for the MHSC opener at Lebanon the following
Sunday. Predictably, the moderately educated guess that serves as the Intellicast weather
forecast was wrong, but in our favor. The morning rains were delayed like an afternoon flight
on Delta, when you’re scheduled to get home in time for dinner but they screw you with a
bogus mechanical problem that mysteriously pops up when your flight is less than 1/3 full and
they cancel it so they can put everyone on the next flight that doesn’t leave for three more
friggin’ hours. But I digress. I spent just over an hour walking the course under partly sunny
skies and covered it all. My moderately educated guess of a 3-mile length was confirmed at
the riders meeting, and based on the fact that we were sharing the ATV course, 10-12 laps in
2 hours seemed reasonable. Other than a big water hole near the far corner of the property,
everything looked entirely rideable. Nothing too tight, only slightly technical, and short. The
club officials lined us up at 10:30 a.m., earlier than most races, but that would be a blessing.
I signed up for the Vet class, which included Cape Girardeau, Missouri native Jason Hawk on
his big KTM thumper. Two rows ahead of us was MHSC regular Dwayne Parish sporting his
brightly colored helmet. The starting line was on the TT track, its gently banked turns lined
with plywood walls that screamed “Leg Splinters!” to anyone feeling more aggressive than the
damp clay would allow. I watched the first couple rows navigate the sweeping first turn, fly over
the smooth jump on the opposite side of the oval, then exit the track and begin a muddy climb
up the steepest hill on the course. My row included one other class, with a total of about 8
guys on the line. On my right was Jason and to my left was a guy on a KX250 like mine. When
the flag dropped, the two of us on the KX’s got quick starts and charged into the sweeping left
turn close together. He took the holeshot but I kept him very close. After leaving the TT track
and climbing the steep hill, we made a left turn and a quick right as we passed through a fence
gate. The ground was slick around the gate and the other KX guy slid out, handing me the
lead. I ran with it, flying down the backside of the hill with the rear wheel kicking up. In 4th gear
through a grassy area, I braked hard to turn into the woods. The left turn had a nice berm
leading into the trees, which was very necessary for changing direction in the greasy clay and
would be the only type of corner that could be negotiated at any speed.
The first tricky section came quickly, an off-camber straightaway inside the woods that the ATV’
s would later struggle with. By now I was catching up to guys in the row ahead of me and was
able to get around a couple where the trail opened up. The club had built some water breaks
on the wide trail, not nearly as steep as what I had seen the previous weekend at White Rock
but a bit sketchier because of rocks that awaited in the landing zone. I flew over the first break
in 4th gear, the second one in 3rd, and braked hard to make the next turn. The KX front brake
was flat-out awesome, very confidence-inspiring, and the bike handled superbly through the
high-speed choppy trails.
Near the back corner of the club property, I looked for an arrow split-off that I had seen during
my walk around the course. The club’s intention here was unclear, as the arrows pointing left
were barely visible unless you knew they were there. The main route was longer, but the
shorter route was more technical and had a nasty mud hole. I saw bikes up ahead of me, so I
took the shorter route through the mud hole and beat several of them to a tricky downhill off-
camber. But as I would discover on the next lap, there was a check set up at the spot where
the two trails converged. I had scouted an inside line where the trail dropped off, but that line
bypassed the checkpoint. I didn’t even realize it was there on the first lap and blew right by it.
From then on, I took the longer route.
The trail zigzagged through the north end of the property until we reached the second
checkpoint at the far northwest corner of the club grounds. After a 5th gear run along the
perimeter of the property, we turned back into the woods. Just before the big water hole was a
tight, slick lefthander that I thought I could negotiate at speed by throwing the KX into the berm
and scrub some speed. Slow down I did, as the bike slid out from under me and blocked the
trail, with the front end pointed in the wrong direction. The end of the left handguard was firmly
planted a few inches into the clay, and it took two tries to jerk it loose. I got it turned around
after two riders passed by and I charged through the center of the mud hole. The only good
thing about Belleville clay is that it’s firm, which kept me from sinking in the water. Throughout
the rest of the race I was able to take the same line through the center of the hole.
In the last mile of the course, the slime was a little nastier and it took some effort to keep the
bike going straight. None of the mud was particularly deep, just slick. But I had put on the
fattest Michelin S-12 rear tire I could find and hooked up great. The next few laps were more of
the same, but during the first hour of the race my clutch hand felt tired. The KX is a little more
work when things get technical, as it likes to be revved. Thoughts of an aftermarket hydraulic
clutch passed through my head while I endured the pain in my left hand. But halfway through
the race the pain disappeared and I never noticed my clutch hand again. Around that same
time, Dwayne Parish, who had started a couple minutes ahead of me, soon was visible just
before checkpoint #1. I followed him for a couple minutes until the trail opened up and I was
able to make the pass by out-braking him to the next corner.
The only spot in the course that had to be re-routed was a small hill where a deep rut was
developing at the base. Some of the less experienced riders were getting hung up there, but
the course officials reacted quickly to keep guys like me from using them as traction and
marked a different way up the hill. Another interesting spot was just before the point where I
had crashed on the first lap, which was near the end of the high-speed section after
checkpoint #2. It was a sweeping left turn with a nice little rut to lean into, but somewhere
around the seventh lap I was coming up on a guy pretty fast and wanted to beat him to the
mud hole. He took the established line while I went wide around the turn in 4th gear, outside
the rut, and executed my best imitation of a power slide. A speedway racer would have giggled
in amusement, but my near slide-out in 4th gear was enough to scare the other guy into letting
me around.
A couple of the fast guys on the first row lapped me about 75 minutes into the race, while I was
following a Honda thumper on the TT track. The Honda guy had a pretty good pace going,
and I wasn’t able to pass him until the next lap. As the race wore on, I rode well and felt good.
That KX hit has become addictive, as has the strong front brake. The rain held off until the
checkered flag came out and I was able to load up the bike and change clothes while it was
still dry. The peewee race following the initial rain shower left me with a lasting impression of
Belleville. A little guy on a PW50 was coming off the TT track, his front tire packing so much
clay that his forks were acting as mud wipers. That, my friend, is the Belleville I know and love
(sort of).
yes, those are pins.
