Round two of the Missouri Hare Scrambles Championship was hosted at a farm property near Westphalia. Two weeks after the snow-covered Steelville event, Westphalia came as a polar opposite. Today was sunny and mild and trail conditions were just about perfect. Matt Sellers and I drove out together, having become regular racing buddies over the past year and taking turns chauffeuring each other to events. Until I moved to Missouri, I'd never lived close enough to a like-minded dirt biker to claim another human as my riding buddy, but I had one now.
Matt and I both entered the Open B class, with our KTM 300EXC motorcycles. The Open class was reserved for motorcycles with engine displacement over 250 cubic centimeters and the B class was for intermediate-level riding skills. We the "B's" were serious about racing, just not seriously fast.
A large pasture served as the starting area, with a series of arrows and yellow caution tape corralling riders into the woods. When the green flag dropped, I found myself in a mid-pack position as we sprinted towards the narrow entrance. The trail inside the trees was the two-track leftover from the ATV race in the morning. The ATVs had cleared a wide path, but on a motorcycle, two tracks were not better than one. Was the best line an inside or outside track? Should I risk crossing over the silty hump between the tracks at the apex of a curve, or hold my line? Some of the answers had already been decided in the morning practice lap, where riders had smoothed out some of the turns by skipping across inside and outside tracks.
With loose, flat-edged rocks, the front end was difficult to predict on the first lap. I'd bought a Scotts steering damper late in the 1999 season and was already feeling how it could reduce fatigue on courses like Westphalia. Turning in the loose rock was still a challenge, but the damper helped the bike track straight when the trail threw all sorts of harsh objects at the front wheel.
Early in the first lap, I'd put myself ahead of Matt and another rider charging up through the lower half of the class. We came together when he attempted a pass, leaving me on the ground and the other rider out of my sight. Matt casually rode by while I regrouped, but I caught up and passed him back a short while later.
The second lap was easier than the first, with the single lines carved by motorcycle tires identifying the fastest way through the course. Over the duration of the race, those lines would evolve through a democratic process. If you liked your line through a section, you could keep your line as long as most others agreed. If not, you'd probably see your line disappear the next time around.
On lap 3 I held a comfortable top-5 position when, inexplicably, I ran out of gas. A 300EXC fuel tank holds plenty enough premix to complete a 2-hour hare scramble without refueling. This was strange. I flipped the fuel petcock to its reserve position, completed the lap and rushed to my truck. I poured in a gallon of fuel at my truck and lost three or four minutes, but the brief rest actually reinvigorated me. I rode like hell for one more lap. That final run through the course was my fastest lap of the day by about two minutes.
Despite my fuel problem, I finished in 6th place behind Matt, who ended only 21 seconds ahead of me. Had I not run out of gas, lap times suggest I would have finished fourth and brought home another trophy. One thing about riding buddies and long drives home: Matt earned bragging rights and I had to listen to him, not realizing this would be one of many such rides home.
