March 17, 2002
Park Hills, Missouri
I never fancied myself a motocross racer. We all have our risk limits, and the idea of lining up next to dozens of motorcycles and then drag racing to a first turn was the point at which I drew a line in the dirt. Yet here I was, at the Park Hills round of the Missouri Hare Scrambles Championship series, lined up beside 28 entrants of the Open B class. I reminded myself it could have been worse. The Open C class garnered 56 racers. Those watching from afar, these dead-engine hare scramble starts, know what this means: Unparalleled entertainment. I really didn’t want to be part the careening and cartwheeling and flipping that brings so much joy to spectators, but 28 guys…Lord help me.
The huge turnout was already evident in the signup line, where I waited nearly an hour to turn over my cash and get keyed into the computer. I expect this sort of thing at the DMV, but here at least, people seem genuinely happy to be standing in line and the workers are much friendlier. Even so, the whole vibe of the place felt different. St. Joe State Park events typically come with heat and dust, but early spring was a different thing. The air was cool and crisp, and who would have imagined the sponsoring club inviting RJ the DJ to spin all the hits from 1983 on a portable stage? This was a party atmosphere without the partying. We came to race. And who would have bet on defending overall series champ Steve Leivan showing up bike-less and hobbling around the staging area with broken bones? The only sure thing today was park rangers issuing tickets.
With steady rain during the week, the course looked sloppy, so I opted out of a practice lap. Most others did as well. We all needed a little extra energy for the 12:30 start, which promised exceptional sketchiness. I positioned my KTM 300EXC on the far end of the Open B row, where I’d be closest to the inside line at the first turn. With a little luck, I’d jam up those ahead of me as we piled into the turn, shoving them to the outside like a real motocrosser. And oh, what a great strategy that would have been if the engine had fired on the first try. With two extra jabs to the starter lever, I blasted across the sand in time to see what appeared to be Kurt “Pizza Man” Mirtsching crash shortly after takeoff (although with 27 other guys to keep track of, it could have been anyone).
While riders fanned out over a quarter-mile of sandy whoops, I passed quite a few dirt bikes before entering the woods. This was a bit of a surprise, considering sand rollers and high speeds weren’t my favorite. More often than not, I lose positions in this terrain. Then again, the fast guys left me standing at the starting line. Was I doing good? Did it even matter, less than a quarter-mile into the race?
The answers remained unclear until the course forced us inside the trees and mud flew in all directions. Most of those directions led straight to my goggles, but I came prepared. In my never ending search for racing wisdom I’d run across a pro tip, used by actual professional racers, where a tear-off is lightly taped over a set of roll-off equipped goggles. A confused reader can head over to his favorite internet search engine and discover the difference between tear-offs and roll-offs, or if not in any real hurry, keep on reading. The tear-off, a thin, clear piece of lens-shaped plastic-type material, is normally affixed to the goggles in sheets, maybe 10 or so for a race, and pulled off one at a time as the need arises for clear vision. Roll-offs involve a roll of thin, clear, plastic-like tape (non-stick, of course) mated with a mechanical device in which a rider can pull a small retractable cord (think Woody from Toy Story) to advance the clean, clear tape across the goggle lens when vision gets cloudy. Mr. Smart Guy took the pro tip and combined the two…sort of.
Why, you may ask, is this duplication necessary, if one already uses a roll-off system? The answer lies in the early stages of an off-road race, where riders are packed together closely. Over time the motorcycles spread out and distance themselves from others, but until that happens, mud can be a serious problem for goggles. Compounding the issue is the natural impulse for racers to treat the start of a 2-hour hare scramble as if the outcome will be decided in the first 5 minutes. We get excited…it happens to all of us. Throw in some mud, and even a roll-off equipped set of goggles can be made useless within those first minutes. This is where a tear-off can act as a temporary shield for the roll-off system, preventing layer upon layer of thick muck from rendering it useless (usually from mud finding its way under the tape). An inoperable roll-off system leaves a person riding totally blind, which is very much like driving a car while asleep: The odds of an accident are 100%. The tear-off is a way out a means to preserve the capability of the roll-off system after the crowd of eager races (and the flying mud) thins out.
Now that we are educated on the finer points of goggle lens vision, I might remind readers there was a race going on and I was in the middle of it. As expected, the initial push into the woods came with a coating of muck across my goggles. I waited longer than I should have to discard my tear-off “shield”, but with a quick tug my vision became crystal clear. I felt smart…for another 10 seconds. The riders ahead of me hadn’t yet tempered their excitement and the mud kept on flying, but the roll-offs were up to the task.
As we spread out across the course, passing became more manageable. Near the halfway point in the first lap, I began catching up to stragglers in other B classes from the rows ahead, moving past some fairly easily (a block pass or two) and others with more difficulty (in 4th gear inches of separation between bike and trees). After a few of the more risky moves, I decided my passing would have to be more calculated (read: safer) or I might just end up wrapped around a tree. I relaxed a bit and scanned ahead for those little shortcuts which shave half-seconds here and there and allow just enough space to beat another rider to the next turn. In the tightness of woods racing, even tiny increments of time can be the difference between leading and following, and today I wanted to lead.
Later in the first lap I blazed a quicker line to the side of the main trail and put myself ahead of three riders all at once. There is no greater boost to a man’s confidence than passing a trio of racers in the span of two seconds. Alternatively, this confidence can disappear with a crash that puts the same three riders right back in front. And wouldn’t you know it, that’s exactly how it played out. Just after my shortcut, I noticed an object poking against my right knee. The end of a tree branch had attached to my motorcycle, so I did what any reasonable dirt bike racer would do while charging through narrow woods and rocks and hills and mud and tree roots and gullies: I kicked the branch with my foot, over and over. When this effort failed, I reached out with my hand, again while navigating the aforementioned obstacles at race speed, lost my balance and fell over with the bike. I could now see my front fork and axle latched on to a small tree during my shortcut pass and began dragging it along the trail. While I was on the ground pulling out the tree, the three gentlemen who I’d passed so easily sailed on by. So much for shortcuts, smart guy.
The first lap ended with a trip through the main scoring checkpoint, and despite my adventures with goggles and trees, I’d progressed through a decent chunk of the Open B class. The second lap began and ended far less eventfully, with no crashes or clusters of riders to pass. I moved up a couple more spots amongst the ranks of my class and could finally ride my own race. Most of the standing water had long since been splashed away by the hundreds of riders trying to make their mark on the MHSC series, but my gloves, pants and jersey remained soaked from my first trip around the course.
By the third lap, bottlenecks had developed around the steeper climbs, but the mature forest of St. Joe State Park allowed for many alternate routes. I found my way through these sections without losing time and kept the rear wheel spinning through the mud. I marveled at the beating these trails could endure in wet conditions, with such a firm rock base. Across the river in Illinois, this type of race would have left a one-rut trail through most of the course, with riders stuck up to their axles in mud.
After more than two hours on the course, I was tired, wet, and ready for a nap. My goggle strategy worked like a charm, and I maintained clear vision from start (mostly) to end. At the finish line, as usual I had no idea how much progress I’d made after my poor start. The odds of overtaking 27 other Open B riders were exceptionally slim, but the results shocked me: I’d passed 25 of them. Even more stunning was finishing only a minute or so behind the class winner. I gradually came to understand why so many riders treat the first minutes of a race as if the final outcome depended on it. Sometimes, the racing is just that close.
The huge turnout was already evident in the signup line, where I waited nearly an hour to turn over my cash and get keyed into the computer. I expect this sort of thing at the DMV, but here at least, people seem genuinely happy to be standing in line and the workers are much friendlier. Even so, the whole vibe of the place felt different. St. Joe State Park events typically come with heat and dust, but early spring was a different thing. The air was cool and crisp, and who would have imagined the sponsoring club inviting RJ the DJ to spin all the hits from 1983 on a portable stage? This was a party atmosphere without the partying. We came to race. And who would have bet on defending overall series champ Steve Leivan showing up bike-less and hobbling around the staging area with broken bones? The only sure thing today was park rangers issuing tickets.
With steady rain during the week, the course looked sloppy, so I opted out of a practice lap. Most others did as well. We all needed a little extra energy for the 12:30 start, which promised exceptional sketchiness. I positioned my KTM 300EXC on the far end of the Open B row, where I’d be closest to the inside line at the first turn. With a little luck, I’d jam up those ahead of me as we piled into the turn, shoving them to the outside like a real motocrosser. And oh, what a great strategy that would have been if the engine had fired on the first try. With two extra jabs to the starter lever, I blasted across the sand in time to see what appeared to be Kurt “Pizza Man” Mirtsching crash shortly after takeoff (although with 27 other guys to keep track of, it could have been anyone).
While riders fanned out over a quarter-mile of sandy whoops, I passed quite a few dirt bikes before entering the woods. This was a bit of a surprise, considering sand rollers and high speeds weren’t my favorite. More often than not, I lose positions in this terrain. Then again, the fast guys left me standing at the starting line. Was I doing good? Did it even matter, less than a quarter-mile into the race?
The answers remained unclear until the course forced us inside the trees and mud flew in all directions. Most of those directions led straight to my goggles, but I came prepared. In my never ending search for racing wisdom I’d run across a pro tip, used by actual professional racers, where a tear-off is lightly taped over a set of roll-off equipped goggles. A confused reader can head over to his favorite internet search engine and discover the difference between tear-offs and roll-offs, or if not in any real hurry, keep on reading. The tear-off, a thin, clear piece of lens-shaped plastic-type material, is normally affixed to the goggles in sheets, maybe 10 or so for a race, and pulled off one at a time as the need arises for clear vision. Roll-offs involve a roll of thin, clear, plastic-like tape (non-stick, of course) mated with a mechanical device in which a rider can pull a small retractable cord (think Woody from Toy Story) to advance the clean, clear tape across the goggle lens when vision gets cloudy. Mr. Smart Guy took the pro tip and combined the two…sort of.
Why, you may ask, is this duplication necessary, if one already uses a roll-off system? The answer lies in the early stages of an off-road race, where riders are packed together closely. Over time the motorcycles spread out and distance themselves from others, but until that happens, mud can be a serious problem for goggles. Compounding the issue is the natural impulse for racers to treat the start of a 2-hour hare scramble as if the outcome will be decided in the first 5 minutes. We get excited…it happens to all of us. Throw in some mud, and even a roll-off equipped set of goggles can be made useless within those first minutes. This is where a tear-off can act as a temporary shield for the roll-off system, preventing layer upon layer of thick muck from rendering it useless (usually from mud finding its way under the tape). An inoperable roll-off system leaves a person riding totally blind, which is very much like driving a car while asleep: The odds of an accident are 100%. The tear-off is a way out a means to preserve the capability of the roll-off system after the crowd of eager races (and the flying mud) thins out.
Now that we are educated on the finer points of goggle lens vision, I might remind readers there was a race going on and I was in the middle of it. As expected, the initial push into the woods came with a coating of muck across my goggles. I waited longer than I should have to discard my tear-off “shield”, but with a quick tug my vision became crystal clear. I felt smart…for another 10 seconds. The riders ahead of me hadn’t yet tempered their excitement and the mud kept on flying, but the roll-offs were up to the task.
As we spread out across the course, passing became more manageable. Near the halfway point in the first lap, I began catching up to stragglers in other B classes from the rows ahead, moving past some fairly easily (a block pass or two) and others with more difficulty (in 4th gear inches of separation between bike and trees). After a few of the more risky moves, I decided my passing would have to be more calculated (read: safer) or I might just end up wrapped around a tree. I relaxed a bit and scanned ahead for those little shortcuts which shave half-seconds here and there and allow just enough space to beat another rider to the next turn. In the tightness of woods racing, even tiny increments of time can be the difference between leading and following, and today I wanted to lead.
Later in the first lap I blazed a quicker line to the side of the main trail and put myself ahead of three riders all at once. There is no greater boost to a man’s confidence than passing a trio of racers in the span of two seconds. Alternatively, this confidence can disappear with a crash that puts the same three riders right back in front. And wouldn’t you know it, that’s exactly how it played out. Just after my shortcut, I noticed an object poking against my right knee. The end of a tree branch had attached to my motorcycle, so I did what any reasonable dirt bike racer would do while charging through narrow woods and rocks and hills and mud and tree roots and gullies: I kicked the branch with my foot, over and over. When this effort failed, I reached out with my hand, again while navigating the aforementioned obstacles at race speed, lost my balance and fell over with the bike. I could now see my front fork and axle latched on to a small tree during my shortcut pass and began dragging it along the trail. While I was on the ground pulling out the tree, the three gentlemen who I’d passed so easily sailed on by. So much for shortcuts, smart guy.
The first lap ended with a trip through the main scoring checkpoint, and despite my adventures with goggles and trees, I’d progressed through a decent chunk of the Open B class. The second lap began and ended far less eventfully, with no crashes or clusters of riders to pass. I moved up a couple more spots amongst the ranks of my class and could finally ride my own race. Most of the standing water had long since been splashed away by the hundreds of riders trying to make their mark on the MHSC series, but my gloves, pants and jersey remained soaked from my first trip around the course.
By the third lap, bottlenecks had developed around the steeper climbs, but the mature forest of St. Joe State Park allowed for many alternate routes. I found my way through these sections without losing time and kept the rear wheel spinning through the mud. I marveled at the beating these trails could endure in wet conditions, with such a firm rock base. Across the river in Illinois, this type of race would have left a one-rut trail through most of the course, with riders stuck up to their axles in mud.
After more than two hours on the course, I was tired, wet, and ready for a nap. My goggle strategy worked like a charm, and I maintained clear vision from start (mostly) to end. At the finish line, as usual I had no idea how much progress I’d made after my poor start. The odds of overtaking 27 other Open B riders were exceptionally slim, but the results shocked me: I’d passed 25 of them. Even more stunning was finishing only a minute or so behind the class winner. I gradually came to understand why so many riders treat the first minutes of a race as if the final outcome depended on it. Sometimes, the racing is just that close.
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