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St. Joe State Park
Park Hills, Missouri
6th of 13 in A Sportsman
For a couple of reasons, most notably a broken motorcycle, I was unable to compete in either
of the two St. Joe State Park hare scramble races last year. The 2004 March of Dimes race,
held at its familiar spot in the non-public section of the park, was my first hare scramble at St.
Joe in over a year. The annual charity event often welcomes in the dog days of summer, but
on this day the skies were sunny and the temperature moderate. I arrived in time to witness
tiny motorcycles and ATV’s flying around the youth course, most of which circled in and out of
the pit area on a semi-groomed sand track.
After registering under the shade of a tent large enough to hold a wedding reception, I moved
my truck next to the Sellers big rig just in time to see young Michael retire from the pee wee
race with what appeared to be a seized engine. As Matt would discover the following week, the
little KTM 65’s bottom end had just a smidgen of play, which in Stichnoth terminology equates
to roughly a quarter-inch.
Matt and I suited up for a practice run through about 1/3 of the course, which is all the club
allows for the March of Dimes race. These trails surrounded the staging area and were
relatively tight. Where the woods began was a moderately steep hill and a young guy on a
Honda CR80 stuck at the top. He politely asked for help, so I obliged by coasting the little
motorcycle backwards down the slope and giving it a run up the hill. Surprisingly, the little bike
had just enough power to climb to the top with me aboard, thanks to a handful of throttle and
a slipping clutch.
The starting line was behind, rather than in front of, the staging area this year. The inside of
the A Sportsman line was on the uphill slope of a sand flat, so I placed myself on the far right
side where the terrain was flatter. Ahead of us was a high sand hill where about a hundred
spectators were perched to view the start. The course would take us just to the left of the
sand hill and through a series of turns in the open, then into the woods where the real racing
would take place. When the board dropped, my KX250 fired on the first kick and I held the
throttle wide open in second gear. To my amazement I actually made it to the first corner near
the front of the pack and entered the woods in 4th place. Even in the singletrack the course
was moderately dusty, which was a sure sign the powdery sand areas would be thick with
dust. In this first section, the same trails from practice, I passed one guy and got passed by
another. When we exited the woods near the staging area, I could see a huge cloud of dust
as we approached a fast, straight run through the sand. The leaders had clean air through
this section but I backed off and let the dust clear out in time to see a sharp left-hand turn.
More sand whoops followed, then a long, fast pass across an old earthen dam. I don’t often
hold the throttle wide open for 15 seconds at a time, but across the dam those seconds
seemed like minutes. Another dust cloud appeared at the end of the dam, where we braked
hard for another sharp left-hander.
A short, choppy pass through some rocky sand took us back into the woods. I held my own
through some fun trails and came upon #35 Kevin Ruckdeschell lying on the ground next to a
power line tower. He was clearly shaken as several of us asked if he was alright (he was…a
few minutes later). As I looked behind for one last glance at Kevin, I saw #359 Slade Morlang
on my tail. He passed me just before we crossed a set of railroad tracks. A couple miles after
that we came out into the open and blasted through some sand whoops near the end of the
course. Gary Mittleberg got around me there and a hard-charging #266 John McDaniel
passed me just before the scoring trailer.
Most hare scrambles courses contain their share of memorable obstacles, but because of its
past life as a lead mine St. Joe State Park has more than most. The familiar concrete
structure was there as always, except this time we passed through two levels. I did my best
impersonation of a Supermotard’er on the concrete surfaces, which is to say I over-clutched,
over-spun, and generally overworked myself trying to go fast through this short section.
Whatever that old structure was in its prime, it sure made for fun on a dirt bike. The course
had other unusual features, including a small bridge that we passed under at the point of a
right turn (go wide and say hello to Mr. Concrete Wall).
On the second lap I caught up to #831 Ron Ribolzi in the A-Intermediate class and followed
his Honda for most of the lap. His pace was about the same as mine, but I was content to let
him lead. The few opportunities to pass came and went quickly, but together we both
challenged each other in the same way Kevin Ruckdeschell and I often do. We both finished
the lap without incident, and I held my 6th position.
Lapped traffic and a broken handguard spoiler became troublesome on the third lap. Passing
in the dusty sand was a risky proposition and the woods presented challenges in getting
around slower riders. In the first half of the lap I noticed my plastic handguard spoiler flopping
around the metal guard. Why I had the spoilers on my bike in the first place was somewhat of
a mystery, considering the only other time I’d ever had them on a bike was at my first enduro
in 1995. In anticipation of a cold November morning in Indiana, I cut up a gallon jug of Tide
laundry soap and made a set of orange, wind-blocking spoilers for my Suzuki RMX250. The
black Moose spoilers on my KX250 worked just fine during the previous race, but at St. Joe
the left one slid to the outer edge of the handlebar and whacked my wrist with every moderate
bump. I caught up to #22 Ralph Gerding at the earthen dam and tried to get around him, but
the KX didn’t have enough speed to make the pass. Mercifully, the spoiler fell off after I
passed Ralph a couple minutes later in the woods.
Near the end of the third lap I whacked my right knee on a rock planted firmly at the top edge
of a deep rut. All I can say is, knee guards are worth their weight in plastic. Without the guard,
I might not be walking. My pace slowed just enough for #38 Todd Corwin to catch up to me
early in the 4th and final lap. He put some distance on me and finished more than a minute
ahead. I held my 6th position through most of the race and finished in that spot. Gary
Mittleberg took another A Sportsman class win, followed by #503 Steve Dean and John
McDaniel. The overall win went once again to Steve Leivan, who appears unstoppable yet
again this year.
After the race we were shocked and saddened by the news that #107 Jerry Hemann had been
fatally injured in a crash about halfway into the race. Jerry was a fast, experienced, and
longtime MHSC racer who will be missed by all who knew him. Godspeed, Jerry.
July 25, 2004
Florence, Missouri
2nd of 4 in A Sportsman
Karma has a way of catching up to me at Florence, that devilish place where tolls are
collected for past sins. After last year’s torturous hare scramble, I felt I had prepaid at least
one full year of impending indiscretions, but I was wrong. The last of my Karma credits were
burned two weeks prior at the North American all-season paradise known as Whistler, B.C.,
future host of Winter Olympic ski events in 2010, mountain biking Mecca and home to a mass
of talent rivaling that of the Las Vegas Supercross. Outside the boundaries of the Whistler
village, at a townie bar where most vacationers wouldn't dare set foot, my two companions
and I discovered that dancers at the Tuesday night ballet wouldn't accept tips while
performing (not even U.S. dollars). Words of advice: if you grow impatient dangling bills in
front of a lady who’s not acknowledging you or your cash, just drop the money on the stage
and walk away. Trust me.
Payback for aggravating Whistler’s local dance troupe came on the Florence practice lap.
Matt and I made our way among the first groups of riders to hit the trail and arrived a mile later
at the first crossing of the big creek that runs through the property. Most weekends in July the
creek is relatively dry, but three inches of rain had raised the water level. About 50 feet
across and two feet deep, I plowed through the strong current and into the mouth of a smaller
creek. At that point were two sets of arrows, a blue set to the left that took us out of the water
and a red set to the right that continued upstream in the smaller creek. I asked a guy on an
ATV which color arrows we should follow and he replied, “Both.” So I took off to the right while
the guys behind me waited for a less ambiguous response. The next few miles were
continuous jumping back and forth between the pair of muddy ruts left by the ATV’s. Inside
the woods I was by myself, couldn't move fast enough to get out of first gear, and wasn’t even
sure I was on the correct trail. I stopped a guy on an ATV and asked if I was on the right trail,
and told me I was doing fine.
A few miles later the trail returned to the point of ambiguous arrows. After 100 yards of so of
riding parallel to the big creek, arrows pointed to an opening in some tall weeds near the
water. All I could see through the weeds was an unclimbable bank about 100 feet away and
nothing but rushing water in between. With no arrows or evidence of where I was supposed to
go and no idea how deep the water was, I waited around a few minutes until #18 Gary Wolf
and #250 Adam Ashcroft caught up. A willing test subject, Gary charged into the water with
Adam and I following close behind. The intended route was to ride 30 yards downstream in a
couple feet of water to a large gravel island, then a couple hundred yards down the gravel
island to another crossing that would take us to the other side of the creek.
Crossing from the island to the mainland was at a place where the creek channel was much
narrower, but the current was faster and it was impossible to gauge the water’s depth. Again,
Gary went in first. The front end of his KTM immediately dived under the water, resurfaced,
and then the back end followed suit. Adam and I watched this first in amazement (“He made
it!”), then fear (“Oh crap, we gotta do that, too!”). A course official suggested that we enter
the creek a few feet downstream from Gary’s point of crossing, where he assured me it was
shallower. I gave it a try.
It wasn't shallower.
The KX dived in the water and went about 5 feet before the engine bogged abruptly and died.
There I sat in the middle of the creek, water up to my seat, engine full of water. My day
appeared to be over. I pushed the bike out of the water to the other side of the creek,
spewing expletives that would have made John Kerry’s wife look tame, and sat for a minute to
contemplate what just happened. By this time several riders had arrived and the course
officials sent them downstream to another crossing, where it appeared they were all
successful in navigating the creek. Matt saw my situation and came back several minutes later
with a plug wrench. We turned the bike upside down and pumped the water from the engine.
After 15 minutes of kicking over the engine, it finally started. I’m not a big fan of riding, much
less racing, a bike that’s been submerged in water until it’s properly serviced, but I hadn't
come to Florence to be a spectator. I fueled the bike, ate a sandwich, and headed for the
starting line.
Only three other guys were lined up next to me in the A Sportsman class, but the four of us
were each within the top 5 in series points in our class (the fifth guy, Todd Corwin, was
working the race). Gary Mittleberg and Slade Morlang, winners of all but one race thus far in
the ’04 series, joined Kevin Ruckdeschell and I on our usual third row starting position. Kevin
jumped out to his customary holeshot while Gary and I followed behind. With mud flying, the
tear-off I’d taped over my goggles had to be pulled about 20 seconds after the start.
The four of us switched positions several times in the first couple of miles. So much swapping
took place that I honestly can’t remember who passed me when or where I passed the other
guys, but it’s likely that all four of us led at various times during the first lap. About halfway into
the lap I was in the third spot and caught up to Gary, who seemed to be cruising a little in the
mud but was showing me some excellent lines. After a hard charge up a snotty hill, I tried for a
pass in an open field and edged by Gary as he cheered me on. Screaming in my head were
these words: Holy crap, I just passed Gary Mittleberg! Further along the trail I saw Slade
picking up his bike in a rutted section and was struggling to get back into a rhythm. I got
around him and took over the lead. More words passing through my head: Holy crap, I just
passed Slade Morlang! Although Gary and Slade were right behind me when we passed
under the scoring trailer, I could now boast that I’d finally led a lap in the A Sportsman class.
My lead didn't last much longer. Gary and Slade both got around me on the second lap and I
didn't see either one for the rest of the race. The first crossing of the wide creek had been re-
routed away from a steep embankment we had to climb on the first lap. Instead, we made a
straight line into the mouth of the smaller creek that emptied into the wide creek. The water at
this junction was about as deep as I’m comfortable riding, but the KX plowed through. I
headed upstream, trying to stay as close to land as possible and avoid any watery surprises.
Just before we exited this narrow creek, the established line was far to the left side where a
foot-wide patch of soil was barely ridable next to small trees. This narrow line was the
difference between making it through the section and drowning the bike in seat-deep water.
As I pointed my front wheel toward the main rut, a guy sitting idle in three feet of water was
evidence of how important mere inches would be in determining who finished and who didn't.
From then on, that narrow patch of soil next to the trees would be well-used.
The rest of the second lap was relatively uneventful, other than a small bottleneck in a narrow
creek that took us back near the staging area. A guy in the Junior class got hung up in a rut
and could only watch as the big bikes used his rear wheel for traction. I was still close enough
to Gary to see him get by the guy cleanly and I decided that the only way I’d keep Gary in
sight was to find another way around instead of waiting in line for others to go through. Plus,
the kid kept trying to get his bike out of the way but nobody was giving him the time to do it.
With each bike that ran over his wheel, he’d throw up his hands in frustration and I felt sorry
for him. My alternate line would have worked if I hadn't got hung up on a rock ledge. Slade
apparently passed me there while I struggled with the ledge but I didn't see him.
On the third lap, more alternate lines were forming around many of the tough spots. The big
creek crossing was once again re-routed and dead bikes littered the area where I’d seen the
guy drown his bike on the previous lap. I could only imagine the frustration of those guys
seeing that had they ridden 12 inches farther to the left, they would have passed through with
ease. Midway through the lap I came upon Kevin with his bike on its side, trying to conceal the
rock he was using to beat his bunched-up chain back into place. He said I was about a minute
behind Slade. Again, I finished the lap in third place.
Lap four brought on more ruts and lots of guys struggling up hills. At the big creek crossing,
several course workers were pointing out the best lines. I went where I was pointed but
passed through water deep enough to plug up the carburetor vent hoses. The engine stalled
right next to #21 Gary Wetherell on his KX250. Todd Corwin helped me move out of the way
and commented that most of the KX’s had stalled in the deep water. Gary was still trying to
restart when I fired up my engine on the first kick. Just after that section was the tallest hill in
the course, which was fairly easy to climb on previous attempts because the approach was
long and straight. This time, however, a bike was coasting down the hill for another attempt. I
blazed my own alternate path up the hill and made it slowly to the top, but the marked trail
wasn't in sight. Most hare scrambles require riders to stay within 20 feet of the arrows, but
sometimes Stichnoth Modified Rules of Racing must take effect. When conditions are brutal
and wide alternate paths must be taken, Stichnoth Rules dictate that as long as I can see
points that are within 20 feet from the arrows, I’m good. Whether or not this rule was broken,
who knows, but at the top of the hill I eventually found the trail.
Near the end of the lap I saw #12 Aaron Shaw, best mud rider in Missouri, fly past me in an
open field. My watch indicated that there was an outside chance that my fourth lap would be
my last, but only the AA race was over when I checked into the scoring lane. Slade’s #359 was
still visible on the LED screen, so I figured I wasn't too far behind him. Somehow lap five was
one of my faster laps of the day, and I unknowingly passed Slade to take over the second
place spot. Gary’s lead over me was cut in half on the final lap, but his four-minute cushion
going into lap five was more than enough to take the win. Gary, Slade, and I each garnered
some overall points, finishing 9th, 13th, and 12th, respectively. Aaron Shaw took the overall
win, with Steve Leivan a couple minutes behind.
