The Columbia round of the Missouri Hare Scrambles Championship series was hosted by Finger Lakes State Park. This park is the former Mark Twain Mine, a strip mine operated by Peabody Coal in the mid-1960s. Coal mining here barely predated modern land reclamation laws, leaving a rugged terrain ideal for off-road activities. In 1974, Peabody donated the mine property to the Missouri state park system. The park is open to public riding for all sorts of off-road vehicles.
On this day, the park was available only to those willing to race around the rugged trails for two hours. Its location north of Interstate 70 made the park distinctly different from the MHSC races in the south half of the state. Here, the soil is smooth, dark and more suitable for farming than dirt bike racing. I expected a Belleville-esque course, mostly rock-free with many short, steep hills. Finger Lakes would be just that.
At the starting area, riders assembled into their usual positions, each class a separate row. The MHSC sticks to its one row, one class format no matter how many racers are entered. The Pro class is always the first row, followed by the A class on the second row. Next were the various B classes and the Vet class, each rotating from race to race behind the A class. If my class started on row 3 today, for example, at the next race we would be moved back to row 4, then row 5 and so on, eventually returning to row 3 when we completed our rotation. Today I would be competing with 10 others in the Open B class, including riding buddy Matt Sellers.
The motocross section of the park served as the starting area, situated in what was normally the spot where motocross racers would line up behind a gate. There would be no gate drop for us today, no live engine start where we could pretend to be motocross heroes. Standard dead-engine rules would apply, and on this day I held my own when the flag dropped. From there, my first five minutes of racing were a string of foolish riding. Despite nearly perfect trail conditions, I fell over while rounding a slow corner, became stuck at a creek crossing, and took slow lines through fast sections.
All the while, Matt had passed me and maintained a small lead throughout the race. The trail was routed through the motocross track at various points each lap, and I could always see Matt several turns ahead. If I picked up my pace, I made mistakes, usually a poor line choice or a crash. I fell on the motocross track in full view of spectators, then tried to redeem myself by clearing the double jump. I sailed over the take-off jump with the bike nearly vertical, then softly returned to earth on the landing jump with more speed than I expected. I overshot the next turn and almost rammed into a group of wide-eyed onlookers. Their expressions suggested a group of minds at the last instant of deciding if I was showing off or out of control.
Clearly, I am no motocrosser, so I focused my efforts on the woods. This day was the kind I'd had before, where no matter what I tried, the speed just wasn't there. When a coal company exhumes over a million tons of coal, then packs up and leaves, it's difficult to lay out a flowing course on what's left 35 years later. The randomness of it all kept me off my game. Matt remained comfortably ahead in 5th place, while I struggled in 6th.
On the final lap, the bite valve on my Camelbak fell off. Same as the White City Enduro last year, the water hose became an unnecessary nut cooler. Matt had stretched his gap over me to 3 minutes when the checkered flag came out, leaving us in the same 5th and 6th positions we'd held for most of the race. I was not especially happy with the result, since the terrain was supposed to work in my favor. But as I would discover in future races, perfect conditions make everyone faster. My strength would show when conditions became ugly...really ugly.
