National Qualifier Racing for the Being who is Deluded into Thinking He is Fast
Last Summer, I rode with Boise Bob, who designs the course for the Idaho City Qualifier, which is a 2-day enduro run just like the ISDE, only with better trails. Bob planted the seed in my brain to come try the race, since I enjoy the Idaho trails so much. It also came highly recommended by anyone who had ever raced there. Now that I live several hours closer to Idaho, it turns out to be a pretty easy trip to make on a 3-day weekend (well, except for the drive back, but more on that later). So I registered, and practiced in the twistiest stuff I could find around Ely.
For reasons that are somewhat clearer in retrospect, but still not entirely clear, most people that aren't actively trying to qualify for the ISDE only race one day. I think the biggest reason for that is that they are wusses. Since I already had to drive all that way, and I'm known for doing dumb stuff, it never even occurred to me to only do one day (except for after the 1st day, when it occurred to me alot). Since ISDE rules are strict as to when you can work on your bike, the bikes are impounded overnight after tech inspection, and in between Saturday's and Sunday's racing. I took Friday off work so I could get up there in time to get my bike inspected and sound-checked and into impound. Let me just say that the idea of impound totally kicks ass. They should do it at every enduro just to keep you from working on your bike the night before the race and breaking things. I figured my bike worked fine last time I was on it, and I washed it, checked it, and rode around a little on it afterwards, so it should probably still work, and putting it in impound meant I was free from having to obsess about it. Once the bike was dealt with, I wandered around the pits, chatted with a few guys I had ridden with before, and met a few new faces, and just relaced and enjoyed the nice weather, since my bike was completely prepped.
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Pushing from impound to the start | Waiting to start |
Time schedules aren't posted until the morning, which means you have to quickly figure out your time-checks, make a little chart, and be prepared to attach it to your bike. You have to make a chart because, unlike in the qualifier-style enduros I have done previously, the check personnel will happily let you go through your check at any time, and if you're early, you just lose points. In fact, since the different classes have different speed averages, they wouldn't be able to tell you when to go through even if they weren't snickering at your stupidity after you burned a check by 20 minutes in an otherwise perfect race.
Per ISDE Rules, you can get your bike from impound 10 minutes before your start time, so you have that 10 minutes to tape your chart somewhere, obsess about a few last-minute worries, and push it the 100 yards to the start since you may not start it until your start minute. That means it's a good idea to have the starting drill down for your particular bike, because if ever murphy's law was going to shine its malevolent light on your motorcycle, it's at the start line with 100 people watching you kick (or press a button) fruitlessly while your minute-mates disappear into the distance. I saw a number of riders (mostly on honda 4-strokes) sitting there struggling with their bikes, much to my concealed amusement. Naturally, I have mastered the intricate starting drill for my 250sx, which is as follows: a) turn on gas, b) pull out choke, c) kick over once, and d) put choke back in and drive away. That's what hours of practice will do for you.
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Multiple ISDE medalist Fred Hoess, with trademark openface helmet |
ISDE hopeful Heather Wilson, who is faster than me, and probably you too |
I was on the same minute with Richard Lujan, a friendly rival from my district 36 days, along with a young man from Utah. Since I tend to panic in the first few miles of an enduro and do stupid things, I figured I would go last, and roll into the day in a leisurely manner, enjoying the slightly damp and loamy dirt, which was almost dust-free even at low altitudes. After a few miles, it became clear to me that we were being a little too leisurely, so I agitated a little and made some noise and they let me by. Keeping one eye on the clock, and one on my chart, I moto'd as fast as I could go, and got to the first check a couple minutes early, so I had time to soften my suspension a little more. I had been planning to keep time like I do for Norcal-style timekeeping enduros, using a stopwatch starting from zero, but I also had real-time hints in a separate column, as a double-check, since the checks had only a real-time clock. Since I have a degree in applied mathematics, I apparently confused myself between the two columns, and I was happily waiting there when the guy two minutes behind asked when I was supposed to go. Doh! A minute ago! Great. First check, and I'm already behind, and feeling stupid as well, which is worse than feeling slow. Later in the day, I got even stupider, and left a check 2 minutes early after gas. As I pulled away, I looked down at my chart and realized that once again I had read from the wrong column. Math is hard.
The main point about Saturday, is that I pretty much stayed behind by a couple minutes, even tho I was riding as hard as I could the whole time. Since I was riding so hard, I didn't get hydrated or fed or rested enough, so I rode worse, and got more behind, so I got even less well rested, fed and hydrated. I felt like I was being hammered mercilessly by small whoops and braking chop. My hands were utterly killing me, and at one point I was unable to summon up enough motor control to let off the throttle. At the end of the day I was not only roasting hot as we returned to the low-altitude of the start, but I was so tired and sore I could barely stand or think. Nonetheless, I forced myself to hustle about and use my 15 minutes before impound to change the air-filter, lube the chain, and make some mental notes of what to adjust in the morning. During the last 20-30 miles of riding, I had finally gotten the suspension just about dialed to prevent the jackhammering I was getting earlier in the day. It wasn't so much that the trails were rough, just that there were 120 miles of them, and the more open whooped sections had to be railed at top-speed because most of the course is tight, twisty singletrack where spodes like me have a pretty tough time maintaining a 20 mph average.
I ended up physically destroyed, and about 15 minutes behind schedule as well. I was kind of annoyed at my poor riding, and annoyed at my non-compliant suspension, but then I had a chance to speak with some acquaintances (both A or AA riders, one of whom has ridden the ISDE before), and they also had struggled with the pace and taken points along the way, and were also hammered so badly they had considered quitting in the middle of the day. Yikes! Since I had to race again Sunday, I had only a couple beers, and concentrated on eating and drinking and stretching and just sitting there recovering.
By the time I got out of bed, I already had the utmost respect for the ISDE finishers. I could barely ride 2 days in a row, and they were doing it for 6? My hands were a mass of blisters such that I could barely hold the bars. I started thinking hard about how to maximize my chances for survival. In my 10 minutes of maintenance time, I dialed the brake lever in closer, to ease the stress on my brake/throttle hand. Then I rotated the bars back a little to make it easier to center my weight on the pegs on the dowhhills, and take the weight off my hands. I also softened the forks up even more. I switched back to my old gloves, figuring my hands would be more used to them, and I sprinkled some baby powder inside as well. I figured the key to finishing would be to use every other part of my body to give my hands a break.
The time averages were relaxed about .5 mph for each section, and I was all alone on my minute for the day. I set a goal of having fun, not houring out and not getting hurt, and off I went. Right from the start I was trying to stay seated as much as possible, relax my upper body, and steer around the worst of the whoops. Surprisingly, I started feeling pretty good after a mile or two. The bike was working better for me with the adjusted ergos, and I was relaxing and enjoying the awesome twisty trails.
I got to the grass-track section and set off with a smile. I pretty much rode it as fast as my current skills will allow me to, making zero mistakes and feeling perfectly in the zone. I passed the two riders in front of me like they were standing still. I was hootin' and hollerin' as I checked out, elated with my performance in the first special test of the day. Looking over the results later, it turned out that in 5 1/2 minutes I still lost almost 1 1/2 minutes to David Pearson, the overall winner. Holy ego check, Batman! If you ever start thinking you know how to ride a motorcycle even a little, just compare your test times at the Idaho Qualifier to the times of the big boys. And then keep in mind that Pearson and those guys get chewed up and spit out by the European enduro honches.
After the grass track was when things started to go slightly awry. Well, not really that bad, since I still was feeling much better than the previous day, but all the stuff that makes good stories started to happen. I had barely finished congratulating myself for the grass track when the next special test checkin presented itself. I continued to ride fast (for me) and smoothly and comfortably, but as I sailed over the crest of a hill, I saw a "W" on a tree. I wasn't sure if it was for the trail I was on, or another trail that took off right there, but then I saw a couple donuts in the trail from earlier turnarounds and got real suspicious. Another 30 yards or so and I reached an intersection that had no markings, so I knew I had gone off course, and I executed a quick 180 and found the proper course just as one of the riders I had passed in the grass track made the turn I missed. He pulled over again for me without audible grumbling, and I finished the check without incident. Naturally, I didn't say anything to the check team about the easy-to-miss marking, figuring that if enough other people missed it, my mistake wouldn't cost me too much.
The course seemed to me to be much more technical in the reverse direction. That could be because my technique was deteriorating, but I was still riding faster, so I claim that day 2 was technically harder. There were lots of steep, twisty, sometimes loose climbs, frequently with obstacles like 10" tree roots at the top of a very steep switchback. There was nothing that with clear trail in front of me I wouldn't be able to ride on the first try, 10 times out of 10, but I could definitely see the potential for bottlenecks if a group of riders hit some of those climbs together. Fortunately, the sparseness of the minutes around me really helped me out, and I never got stuck behind anyone.
I think it was the 3rd special test where all hell started to break well and truly loose. It started with a long, steep, narrow, twisty downhill, and then dumped out onto a short but twisty fireroad section. I overcooked an outside corner and was staring straight at a huge tree. "Don't fixate on the tree!" I shouted to myself. What I should have shouted to myself was "Look at the exit of the corner, lean over more, and gas it!" Instead, I fixated on the space between the trees, and happily rode right off the edge of the road, hoping there weren't any stumps, huge boulders, cliffs, dragons, or trolls lurking down there. I bounced down a very steep embankment and plowed right through a 2" or so sapling then found myself in the gully below the road, looking at another steep 10-15' embankment. Acting purely on instinct, I downshifted into 2nd while I was still rolling, and just pinned it, flailing and clutching wildly up the other side. I managed to carry just enough momentum to crawl up the slope and back onto the road. Holy $#*-ing #&%*!!! Talk about life flashing before your eyes! The checkout was only a couple hundred yards further down the trail, and I went pretty slowly, still not believing my good fortune in avoiding death, dismemberment, bike damage and possibly getting stuck all at once.
Remarkably, I was still on time the first time through main gas. I remembered the 30 mile section between main gas stops as being the hardest and most difficult section of trail, and I lost about 10 minutes there the day before, so i fueled up bike and body, and prepared myself mentally to just persevere and stay smooth. This section contained the most "special" special test I have ever experienced. It was many miles of the sort of typical Idaho mountain singletrack that is VERY unforgiving of errors. If you have ridden much in Idaho, you know what I mean. Very narrow (6" or less sometimes) on a very steep sidehill. To make it more interesting, some of the corners had been blown out the day before (or earlier that day), so you couldn't always be sure that the burned-in track was really where you wanted to go. One particular section saw the trail just pretty much disappear across about 10' of steeply angled rocky face. I passed about a zillion riders who were even more terrified than I was, and I was going pretty slowly, and trying to focus down the trail and not look at the yawning chasm that awaited any off-trail excursions. I got passed by two riders who were just flying, looking very strong and smooth. It was tough to even find a safe place to pull off for them, and in fact, one of them appeared to be unable to ride slowly, and he tipped over right as I pulled off. I kept going, and it took him all of 10 seconds or so to get going and catch me again. The 2nd time I pulled over, he zipped past and disappeared into the distance.
This special test seemed very long to me, and I was really glad when it was over, cuz I was starting to ride like a spaz, shying away from the edge of the trail too much. If you've ridden alot of narrow sidehill trails, you may have noticed than when you start to hug the mountainside, you tend to wash the front wheel and lowside alot. I did this, and fell over for no apparent reason, whacking my thigh pretty hard into the handlebar. I'm still limping a little bit 2 days later. Shockingly, I made it back to gas with a couple minutes to spare.
So I loaded up with gas and food again, and took myself and my sore thigh onto the next section. I had to pee, but I didn't have that much time, and I knew I could make up time in the next section, so I rode as fast as I felt comfortable to get to the next check and have time to empty out my bladder. I barely made it. Along the way, the guys on the minute behind me caught up. They were all wusses who hadn't ridden the day before, so they were pretty fresh, and pretty good riders too. They pretty much caught me after every check for the rest of the day, but at least they went by in a hurry, and I got to rest while the dust died down.
If you have raced much, you may be familiar with the scenario of passing another rider, only to flail like a total spode once you're in front of him. I caught a fellow on a yz250 in some tight twisty stuff, and since I wasn't in that much of a hurry, I followed him until he pretty much parked in a switchback. He noticed me and moved over, so I passed. About 2 switchbacks later, I slid the front wheel a little, and found myself right at the edge of the trail, trying to keep the bike from doing a Tami-esque off-trail excursion. Being a spode, I once again fixated on a big tree a couple feet downslope instead of the trail. What do you suppose happened? I planted my left handguard and left knee firmly into the tree. Just as I had earlier suspected, all detectable budging occurred on my end of the altercation, and even through my kneepads my knee hurt like a mofo. As soon as the yz250 repassed me, I dragged my bike back onto the trail, and continued on. When I passed him again a couple minutes later, I promised not to do anything really stupid right in front of him this time.
Things got pretty uneventful for a while, although I did lose a couple minutes at the emergency gas check. Since I have no brain, I couldn't remember if it was 2 minutes or 3 tho. Whatever. I thought it might be two, so that's what i acted on. I remember hearing the check guy yell the time that was 2 minutes late while I was still fueling up, but I don't ever remember the next minute being announced.
About 10 miles from the end, there was a long section where there were no course markings. I saw guys stopped, looking confused, but I kept going. After another 1/4 mile or so, I started to get worried, and I slowed down, and looked around more carefully. It really seemed like we were off course, but there were still plenty of tracks. I kept going, slower and worrieder. I was just about to turn around, but then figured I'd at least go to the first real intersection. A few hundred yards later I finally saw a course arrow. Whew!
A mile or two before the finish was the only place I had to wait for anyone. 2 of the 3 fast guys on the minute behind me flailed on a steep angled section with a big root at the top where the trail had been completely blown out by c riders flailing down it the day before. There was essentially no trail at all, so you had to hit it with some momentum, angle your way up the slope, make no mistakes, and get your front wheel over the root at the top. I watched while one of the guys flailed trying to push his bike over the top. I was just about to get off and help him when he gave up and dragged his bike off the side and back down. It actually turned out to be not too difficult, or maybe I just got lucky. I was almost done changing clothes by the time the 2nd of those two finally got up that bit and dragged himself to the finish line.
You would think I would already know this, but every time I do a hard race it still seems like a revelation. It is better to be smooth, efficient, and take a little extra time to think than to just put your head down and charge. I rode faster on day 2 even tho the course was more difficult and bumpier, and even tho I was utterly exhausted because I didn't panic. I made sure even when I was behind at a check to get some food and gatorade into my system. By steering around the bumps, and by staying seated most of the time, I was able to nurse my hands and arms through the 2nd day with no major problems. Luckily, I have a stock KTM seat, cuz I was planted on it for most of the 6 1/2 hrs of racing. Amazingly, the only part of my body that didn't hurt afterwards was my butt. Long live KTM seats!
The 2004 250sx with a 6 oz flywheel weight turns out to be a pretty sweet trailbike. The engine is quite manageable and torquey. I was concerned about 1st gear possibly being too high with the sx/mxc gearing, but by the end of the race I had absolutely zero problems. In fact, I intend to gear up slightly when I replace the drivetrain. I'll probably go from the 13-50 stock gearing to a 14-51 or 14-52, and get more use out of 1st gear, as well as get a little more top-end.
Unfortunately, it took me a day to get the suspension and ergonomics adjusted to my liking, but I was pretty impressed how much of a difference the subtle changes in bar position and suspension damping made. At my height (6'2") I could use a little more room between the seat and the pegs. Since the seat is so comfortable already, and the bike has more clearance than my 02 300, I'll probably just invest in a pair of fastway pegs and run them in the low position, rather than get a taller seat right away. It's kind of nice to keep the seat height as low as is comfortable for technical stuff.
After 240 miles of racing, the Michelin s-12 rear tire still looks pretty good. I would consider racing that same tire one more time in fact. The stock tire was destroyed after 1 race at Virginia city, but some of that is probably attributable to the wheelspin induced by the looser terrain and the lack of the flywheel weight then. I only ran 12 psi front and rear, which seems a little low for a 19" rear tire, but there wasn't much fast, rocky terrain and the extra traction was welcome. The stock front tire worked just fine. Most of the time the traction was so good I could have used most any front tire and it would have worked fine.
I was surprised by how well things went without a steering damper. My 02 300 is pretty much unraceable without one, but the increased offset and the reduced mid-stroke deflection of the forks seemed to work just great. I'll probably eventually get another damper for this bike, but the pegs and maybe some suspension work will be alot more helpful for enduro racing.
As if anyone cares.... I raced B Senior, and got 5th on day 1 and 2nd on day 2. Donald Horn, the guy that beat me on day 2, also beat me on Day 1, so he is not a wuss. Looking over the results, it seemed like the B Senior class was one of the most competitive in B's. This is my 5th enduro since moving up to B class 1 1/2 years ago, and I think I'm pretty much done with B's for enduro racing now. My times and scores would have put me in the upper half of the A Senior class, even allowing for the slightly faster speed averages, so as long as I can be competitive, I might as well move up and start racing with the bigger boys. If you're still sandbagging in the B or C class so you can take home some cheap trophies and impress your girlfriend, shame on you. Challenge yourself and move up.
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