Illinois natives sometimes bristle at the perception that the state is one continuous, flat cornfield. It's simply not true. We all know there are soybeans too. Some of us are also vaguely aware of the mysterious southern part, visited by few and perceived by some as our version of Appalachia. It's a place spoken of by the northern two-thirds in hushed and apologetic tones.
It's unfair, the Southern Illinois stereotype. My view on regional attractiveness is this: If great dirt biking exists, I will visit, end of discussion. Jonesboro, at the southwest tip of the state, fell into this category of appeal. During the summer my friend and riding buddy Matt Sellers had taken me here, to a gem of a riding area called the Trail of Tears Lodge. This hilly, heavily wooded property was host of the Jonesboro round of the Southern Illinois "SOIL" hare scramble series.
The SOIL series was designed to give racers in this part of the state a better opportunity to compete in a hare scramble series, without having to drive long distances. Of the half-dozen or so SOIL venues, Jonesboro had by far the tallest hills and deepest ravines. The trails were technical, loamy and mostly rock-free. In a word, perfect.
Ahead of the motorcycle race, the ATVs tore through their own course as part of the morning events. I arrived early enough to scout the trails while dodging these 400-pound tanks flying around corners on two wheels and clearing 4-foot-wide paths wherever they traveled. Most interesting were the failed hill climbs. Unlike motorcycles, the ATVs simply continued rolling no matter where the inertia ended. Gravity be damned, those machines would rise up, then find their way back down the hill with or without their riders. While observing the steepest climb on the course, I helped a few ATV pilots push their way to the top and gathered some intel on the best lines. How they had the strength to muscle those machines through the woods, I couldn't comprehend.
The green flag dropped just after 12:30 and I entered the first turn in third place. For me, this was outstanding. I'd already developed a reputation in the racing community as the guy who couldn't buy a good start, so as far as I was concerned, I'd pretty much won the race already. I quickly passed the rider in front of me and then focused on the class leader. A wide angle, telephoto lens could not have sharpened this man's focus, as he was out of range in a matter of minutes. I wouldn't see him again until the trophy presentation.
With Jonesboro experiencing the same late-summer drought as most of the Midwest, I expected dry dirt and dusty trails. But the loamy soil and heavy canopy kept just enough moisture on the ground for the course to achieve absolute perfection. My KTM 300EXC was pure joy in these conditions, with an engine that could lug the bike up any hill and power through silty creek beds without downshifting. This was a bike made for the tired and lazy, such as myself, who preferred to ride a gear higher, shift less and squarely attach their butts to a soft seat. The big 300 reminded me of an all-black German Shepard farm dog named Xena: Intimating when viewed from a distance, a bark that screamed "I can rip the throat out of a bear", and a furry tummy begging to be rubbed whenever her master came near. This was my motorcycle, and it was badass. Quite a bit expensive to maintain and difficult to make run well, but yes, it was all mine.
My ribs hadn't completely recovered from my fall at St. Joe State Park, but I was able to ride aggressively. On the first lap I missed a turn and had to backtrack, not knowing if I had lost positions. In these races, it's difficult to know who is in your class. With multiple rows starting about a minute apart and varying abilities within those rows, the classes can get mixed up quickly. Also, some promoters combine classes into the same row. Unless you walk across your row when all the bikes are lined up and make notes of who's in your class, it's unlikely you'll know who you're really racing against.
I desperately wanted to maintain 2nd place, but without knowing my position, I rode as hard as I could. The big hill I'd scouted before the race gave me no problems, but each time I climbed, a few bikes were stuck. I could remember so many times when I'd found myself in the same position, trying decide if I should upright the bike and push it up the hill or drag it to the bottom and try again. Either way, the amount of wasted energy was usually enough to affect my results.
Another positive for this race was keeping the bike on two wheels. Crashes are another time and energy-waster, and of course, are opportunities for injury or mechanical issues. They also can pull a rider out of his groove. I've always felt that most crashes don't cost much time, in terms of picking up the bike and restarting. It's recapturing my rhythm which seems to take away more time than the crash itself.
The hills on this course were some of the steepest I'd ever ridden. We mostly went down the worst of them, but even so, a couple were just plain scary. On the final lap I nudged the handlebar end into my sore ribs, but thankfully the pain was brief. Matt Sellers had also entered this race and was already done when I got back to my truck. He and his family had come to the event and packed up right away, while I stuck around to check our results. Matt had some trouble with the steep uphill and ended up in last place, completing one less lap than me. I finished in second place, about 10 minutes behind the leader. At the trophy presentation the club had fun trying to pronounce my last name. Most clubs just butcher the pronunciation and move on to the next guy, but this time the presenter actually made an effort to say it correctly. Then he got the crowd involved, and they all started chanting "Stich-noth...Stich-noth." It was a good day.
