Westphalia, Missouri

The schedulers of the Missouri Hare Scrambles Championship (MHSC) put the first four rounds at two-week intervals, with Westphalia presenting the most perfect weather the Midwestern United States can offer during the month of April. In the winter season, when the MHSC top brass sets race dates, the only sure thing to expect from a spring event is rain, drought, snow, ice, a heat wave, sleet, hail or tornadoes. No such conditions reached Westphalia.

Early in the morning I picked up riding buddy Matt Sellers in my tiny 1996 GMC Sonoma truck, whose only spaciousness could be found in the 7-foot bed. Matt is not exactly a compact human, but I always felt that with him in the cab and two motorcycles in the back, the ride in this little four-wheel-drive work truck smoothed out considerably.

Westphalia’s ride was also smoothed a bit with two new sections of ATV-free singletrack. Past races here were heavy on wide two-track trails, so I didn’t mind struggling to follow arrows on the practice lap. Come race time, the singletrack would be burned in nicely and the smoother, narrow trails might offer relief from those shared with yesterday’s four wheeler course. My backside appreciated the new seat on my KTM 300MXC, a taller, softer aftermarket version designed mainly for comfort. As a bonus, the sales pitch promised an easier transition from my default sitting position, to a standing position on the pegs. During the practice lap, however, the seat was so darned comfy that I rode the bike like an easy chair in the TV room.

Some bad habits are difficult to break, but I put extra effort into fixing my worst by practicing starts near the staging area. After some experimentation, I decided that when killing the engine before a dead-engine start, the bike doesn't prefer a last little blip of throttle while the engine comes to a halt. The internet experts offered this as a way to fill the combustion chamber with a bit of extra fuel, so the engine would quickly burst to life. I removed this step from my starting routine, and sure enough, the engine fired on the first kick.

But my quick start was offset by overthinking the first turn into the woods. I lined up near the left side of the Vet class row, which offered the shortest path to the left hand turn into the woods. This inside line was a sharp, abrupt bend, while the outside line appeared to be a faster, sweeping curve. So I moved over to the right side of our row under the theory that I could carry more speed into the turn and get a leg up on the rest of my class. Shortly after, Doug Stone ruined my theory by taking the holeshot from a position on the far left side of the AA row, and it wasn’t even close. When the starting board dropped for the Vet class, I was pushed far to the outside and found myself mid-pack at the first turn.

I didn’t much care, though, for I was moving along with the rest of my group rather than throwing down on the kick starter for half a minute. Inside the woods, the course led first with rather tight ATV trails and limited passing opportunities. I marveled how 400-pound four wheelers could grunt and slide through these conditions, and where in the world they would ever pass each other. I was at least able to squeeze my bike through a handful of creative lines and put some separation between the aggressive old guys in the Vet class. The ATVs would have suffered a two-mile freight train through here, before the course transitioned to a wide-open sprint through a pasture.

Those smooth pasture runs usually offered a brief diversion from the intensity of the woods, where riders could relax for small moments. Today, the pastures revealed only huge clouds of dust. Sprinting across the grass, I pressed on blindly toward the woods, hoping I could follow the dark haze and stay on course. Vision returned when I located arrows pointing to the trees, and I refocused on more ATV trails.

A mile or two later, the bikes separated from yesterday’s course and entered the first section of new singletrack. As expected, the practice lap had defined the trail and I could see ahead through the freshly greening brush without much focus on arrows. Trees whizzed by with a little less distance from my handlebars, and for me this was Missouri’s version of heaven. I am, as we say in our off-road motorcycle jargon, a technical rider. While others take joy in wide trails and pure speed, I prefer knifing my way through tight spaces. These past several years in Missouri terrain forced me to adapt to a quicker pace, and in the process made me a more well-rounded rider, but my heart remained true to slower, technical trails.

We left the new singletrack and entered a creek bed too narrow for passing and clogged with riders. Near the midpoint of the course, this section slowed the pack and may have put me within striking distance of the leaders, but then the trail widened as we all drag raced to a grass track. The large field had been reshaped by its farmer-owners for erosion control, with terraces lining the contours. In 3rd and 4th gears, we fancied ourselves motocross heroes by launching our bikes over the terraces, then slamming brakes for sweeping 180-degree turns.

The second new section of singletrack followed, even more narrow than the first. Illinois vibes flowed as I navigated through the dense woods and arrived at the scoring trailer in 6th place. Steve Crews had already checked in first and wouldn’t be challenged for the lead. I charged into the second lap feeling good about my riding, and for the first time this season, my buttocks had no complaints.

Gradually I worked my way past Elston Moore, then Jerry McCasland and Wade Hall, and settled into third place. But Elston remained close and Matt Weis lurked behind as we entered the terrace section. Clearly visible was a medical crew attending to 200C rider Jason Clark, unconscious after a nasty get-off in the grass. This sight was enough to introduce just a bit of reason to my irrational desire to risk my life for a $5 trophy. I sometimes joked with my more sensible coworkers that I took the job for the health insurance benefits, but seeing Jason on the ground reinforced how little the outcome of the race matters if the rider doesn’t walk away from it. Jason’s uncle, fellow Vet class competitor Kevin Ruckdeschell, paused to check on Jason’s condition, allowing me to pull within striking distance. I didn’t feel good gaining on him this way.

But Kevin remained fast, and I would see nothing of him until later in the race. Matt Weis also picked up speed and flew by within the first mile of the third lap and charged toward the lead. When Elston Moore passed me later in the lap, I decided I was done losing positions and kept him in sight for over 40 minutes, searching for that special “hot” line that every rider files away in memory and uses only when a difficult pass must be made. To get around Elston, I would need the hottest of lines.

Near the end of the 4th lap, I found the line I needed to ease past Elston with no intention of letting him back in front. I kept an eye on the official clock at the scoring trailer, which showed potential for 6 laps if I hurried, and that I did on the 5th lap. I bounced across the wide trails and cut through the narrow ones, pushing the bike towards Kevin Ruckdeschell ahead in 3rd place. But all my progress in chasing him would be lost just after the start of the 6th and final lap. Beyond the scoring lane, where the trail descended into a gully and took a rutted path up the other side, my back tire swapped sideways and the engine stalled. I frantically attempted to remain in control while the bike came to a stop, then kicked the starter lever countless times before the engine re-fired.

Those lost 15 or 20 seconds would have me scouring the timesheets after the race, wondering what might have been, but for now I was on a mission to finish strong. When the trail dropped into the narrow creek bed, a KTM came in view and I closed the gap. Without knowing who it was, I kept my front tire a few feet from his rear, scanning for another hot line. Like magic, the line revealed itself at the exit of the creek. The main route had developed the usual slop from tires carrying water up the side bank, and an ever-deepening rut made for a tricky climb. The KTM rider sprinted toward the more established line, while I pointed the bike to an inside line. Little did I know, this was Kevin Ruckdeschell sliding around the outside line while I dove inside and stuck the pass. He didn’t give up 3rd place without a fight, drag racing me around the grassy terraces. Once we entered my singlerack comfort zone, I put some distance between us and held on to the finish.

Sometimes that heavy push from a worthy competitor is all it takes to gain ground, and I almost put a charge on Matt Weis in 2nd place. With only 5 seconds between us in the final results, I pondered the possibilities, had I not stalled the bike earlier in the race, or had Jason Clark not crashed in the grass track. Kevin did the honorable, pausing to check on his nephew, while I used the opportunity to close the gap. My 3rd place trophy suddenly didn’t feel very honorable. Regardless, nobody in our class could catch Steve Crews, who earned the win with his best race of the year. In the overall standings, my 29th place counted as one of my better performances this year. Doug Stone’s holeshot turned into a close second place overall, with Steve Leivan taking yet another MHSC win.