White City, Illinois

For much of the 2003 racing season I'd been corresponding with Jim Walker, a fellow hare scramble enthusiast who, like me, wrote of his exploits online. His website, named RocketRacing.net, went a lot further in design quality, and Jim marketed himself in a way to attract sponsorships. After painstakingly tracking the cost of riding and racing dirt bikes the past few years, I wanted to learn more about offloading a bit of these expenses. We’d planned to go to a race together at some point this year but hadn’t been successful until the annual Cahokia Creek Dirt Riders (CCDR) Toys for Tots charity team race. Three days after Thanksgiving, we joined forces to compete in the 3-hour hare scramble.

The CCDR club grounds offered an outstanding venue for charity racing, where the only goals were fun and philanthropy. Each year the club organizes the event to benefit the Toys for Tots organization and help less fortunate kids have a nice Christmas. The club does its part by donating a massive volume of toys contributed by riders as part of the race fee. On Saturday night I’d braved the Thanksgiving retail frenzy to track down a $10 toy and came to the CCDR club with a dirt bike themed action figure.

Sunday morning I loaded my pickup truck and traveled north, where I ran into Illinois locals Mike Goforth and David Brewster in the registration line. These two would team up for the 3-hour race in the B class. Jim Walker arrived shortly after with his KTM 200EXC and we joined Mike and David in the same class. Had we observed the unofficial rules, we’d have entered the A class on account of my previous race here in +30A, but I considered myself a pretty weak A rider and Jim raced a whole lot less than I did, so we used the law of averages to determine we were average B class racers.

Also on hand was fellow KX250 rider John Yarnell, an unplanned entry in the Ironman class. Ironmen take on the course solo for all 3 hours, and Yarnell chose this class after his teammate didn’t show. My teammate nominated me to ride the first lap and bear a dead engine start with about 20 other bikes on the B class starting line. Charity or not, this was still a race, and I had no doubt those other bikes would shoot for the first corner like factory riders at an AMA national motocross.

The first corner was, in fact, part of a motocross track near the entrance to the club grounds, albeit a tiny version. The CCDR knows its lane, which does not gravitate toward high flying dirt bikes. The little track reflected the extent of what most woods riders will tackle outside the trees. At best, the tabletop jump might have offered 3 feet of air for the more aggressive hare scramblers, but when the green flag waved the first row of A class riders onto the track, wheels remained close to the ground.

My turn came next, at which point the KX250 engine fired quickly and I positioned myself into the front half of the B class. With perhaps 20 cumulative inches of airtime across the 5-turn motocross track, I darted into the woods and jockeyed for position among the trees. Within a mile or two I’d maneuvered my way into the top 5, maintained this position for another couple miles, and then clipped a tree with my hand guard. Down I went, and around came several riders I’d passed earlier.

A quick remount put me back on the trail, where my rear tire struggled for traction. As surely as hedge tree apples fall in October, Midwest soil loses its ability to dry out in November. Shorter days and cooler temperatures meant we’d see loamy dirt sometime in April. For now, a damp layer of black mud spewed from every rear tire, some of which hit my goggles and smeared more muck than my roll-offs could handle. With Jim Walker on deck to ride the second lap, I decided to pull my goggles down under my helmet, charge through the rest of the course without eye protection, and clean up while Jim took over on lap 2.

That was the plan, anyway.

Reality was a huge chunk of mud bursting from another rider’s knobby tire, directly into my right eye. The sting forced my eye closed for the remainder of the lap. Along with a numbing case of arm pump, I passed through the scoring barrels and searched for Jim, nowhere to be found in the team “handoff” area. I circled back and located him, signaled a thumbs-up and pointed the KX250 straight for my pickup truck.

Try as I might, the muddy mess inside my eye never cleared out entirely. Arm pump continued after I spotted teammate Jim emerge from the scoring barrels and took over on lap 3. Three races into the KX250, its clutch still tormented my left forearm. Five years removed from cable operated clutches, I wished for KTM hydraulics in the transmission. The best I could do for a stiff clutch was switch to an aftermarket lever and perch, which did make for a lighter clutch pull, but not enough to alleviate arm pump. Offseason research would ensue, and a surprising solution would cure the problem (stay tuned, dear readers).

Jim and I continued trading laps, pushing through the damp course. Like clockwork, he returned 17 minutes after each handoff. We exchanged a thumbs up and a few words of encouragement, then switched places. Out front in the B class were Mike Goforth and British truck driver David Brewster, setting a quick enough pace to ride unchallenged for the win. I’d witnessed Mike’s speed when we crossed paths in places like St. Joe State Park, where we never separated more than a couple bike lengths. David’s swift laps came with the same precision that supplied his livelihood: Transporting massively oversized truckloads of the huge things that make America work.

After three hours and 6 or 7 laps apiece, Jim and I finished mid-pack in the B class while John Yarnell took the Ironman title. With that, the 2003 racing season ended. Reflecting on the highs and lows of year, an 11th overall finish at the Marshfield, Missouri hare scramble was overshadowed by losing the class win (and a top-10 overall result) in the last 100 feet of the race. The new KTM 300MXC came with high expectations but quickly turned into a disappointment (although it would remain in my fleet as an enduro-only bike). My new relationship with Kawasaki had me re-loving Japanese dirt bikes, despite the many modifications needed to make the KX250 a worthy woods racer. Once again I’d focused my efforts on the Missouri Hare Scrambles Championship, where I finished a distant 6th place in the Veteran class. Too many poor finishes and a fiercely competitive group of older guys kept me well out of the running, although a trio of 2nd place trophies showed I could occasionally mix it up with the faster riders.

But the best and most important part of the season came from the people who showed up to race each Sunday. These men and women loved the sport as much as I, and no matter how well I knew them personally, all were friends. One might say the closest relationships are forged by those who walk (or ride) together, each with a unique understanding of the challenges and rewards of these adventures. Over the years I would spend more time riding and bench racing with Jim Walker, culminating with a week of endless trails in the Taylor Park region of Colorado in 2011. Nine years later, Jim would be gone of this earth.

Godspeed, Jim.