View from Charlie's Doom Trail (Closed to the Public), Great Smoky Mountains.
I have safely returned from my epic adventure into Tennessee for the Christmas Holiday. More details to follow.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Journeys: Preface
View from Charlie's Doom Trail (Closed to the Public), Great Smoky Mountains.
I have safely returned from my epic adventure into Tennessee for the Christmas Holiday. More details to follow.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Rides: We Band Of Warriors
After a rather dull day off on Saturday I was afforded a surprise day of kick ass singlespeeding on Sunday. I arrived at the FATS at 1030 on Sunday morning to find 10 other riders mustering for singletrack battle. I quickly pulled on my armor, mounted my steed, and joined my warrior brethern as they prepared to ride into the fray.
It would be a long morning of battle. Many would fall and blood would be shed.
We started off with Deep Step Trail, my least favorite, for our warm up. It was really cool to be out with such a large group. I think this had been my first true group ride since riding with the MORE group back in May. After we finished Deep Step I got to chat with most of the riders and find out who I was riding with. There was Todd from Pisgah Forest who helped build the FATS, Bill from North Augusta who also helped build the FATS, Alan from Augusta who was out for his first ride on a brand new singlespeed, and another Todd (I think) who was back in Augusta from Seattle to visit and ride with the old crew.
The next trail we assaulted was Great Wall. It was Great Wall that slew the bulk of our warriors. It was also on Great Wall that I discovered that Todd from Pisgah Forest rides like a bat out of hell. Steve would say that, "I couldn't carry his lunch". When I finally caught up with Todd at the next trail intersection he was calmly drinking H2O while I panted heavily and plopped down on a tree stump. When the rest of the group rolled up I was pretty well cooled down. Someone had flatted so our break was somewhat extended. Before we started riding again six riders decided to bail out to the parking lot. The tide of the war was turning.
Anyway, Todd continued to bury me on the next two trails and by the time we had finished the entire 25 miles of the FATS I was cooked. We returned to the parking lot victorious.
We few. We proud. Todd said we all earned a stamp on our "man" cards.
I shook some hands around the parking lot, stretched, and left.
I was so hungry I had to stop at Fazoli's and eat a huge plate of Fettucini Alfredo and Chicken Parmesan.
As hungry as I was it was a privilege to get to ride with some other riding fanatics, especially ones that had significantly contributed to the building of the FATS, thanks guys.
It looks like I'm headed to Gatlinburg, TN for the Christmas weekend...so...yeah.
It would be a long morning of battle. Many would fall and blood would be shed.
We started off with Deep Step Trail, my least favorite, for our warm up. It was really cool to be out with such a large group. I think this had been my first true group ride since riding with the MORE group back in May. After we finished Deep Step I got to chat with most of the riders and find out who I was riding with. There was Todd from Pisgah Forest who helped build the FATS, Bill from North Augusta who also helped build the FATS, Alan from Augusta who was out for his first ride on a brand new singlespeed, and another Todd (I think) who was back in Augusta from Seattle to visit and ride with the old crew.
The next trail we assaulted was Great Wall. It was Great Wall that slew the bulk of our warriors. It was also on Great Wall that I discovered that Todd from Pisgah Forest rides like a bat out of hell. Steve would say that, "I couldn't carry his lunch". When I finally caught up with Todd at the next trail intersection he was calmly drinking H2O while I panted heavily and plopped down on a tree stump. When the rest of the group rolled up I was pretty well cooled down. Someone had flatted so our break was somewhat extended. Before we started riding again six riders decided to bail out to the parking lot. The tide of the war was turning.
Anyway, Todd continued to bury me on the next two trails and by the time we had finished the entire 25 miles of the FATS I was cooked. We returned to the parking lot victorious.
We few. We proud. Todd said we all earned a stamp on our "man" cards.
I shook some hands around the parking lot, stretched, and left.
I was so hungry I had to stop at Fazoli's and eat a huge plate of Fettucini Alfredo and Chicken Parmesan.
As hungry as I was it was a privilege to get to ride with some other riding fanatics, especially ones that had significantly contributed to the building of the FATS, thanks guys.
It looks like I'm headed to Gatlinburg, TN for the Christmas weekend...so...yeah.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Rides: Ummmmm
This week has been somewhat dull in regard to writing inspirations.
Tuesday I opted not to ride at the Warehouse so that I could run and swim. On Thursday I turned one 48 minute lap on range road and then ran. I'm focusing on getting my two mile run time back to the low 11's for sergeant school in January.
We will see.
Tuesday I opted not to ride at the Warehouse so that I could run and swim. On Thursday I turned one 48 minute lap on range road and then ran. I'm focusing on getting my two mile run time back to the low 11's for sergeant school in January.
We will see.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Rides: Last, The Week In Riding (Dammit)
I am reminded of 10 white frozen toes clipped to a bicycle as I sit here daintily enjoying a deliciously chilling blue ceramic bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
The toes were mine and it was Tuesday night.
I was out riding with Andy Jordan and others in North Augusta, SC with bright headlights and uber winter riding gear. We rode a 20 mile loop that took us zigzagging through neighborhoods, across I-20, and up the constantly underestimated Bergen Road climb. Near the end of the ride as we rode down the Greenway, a paved recreation path that follows the Savannah River, the somewhat colder than (hell) 40 degree farenheit wind whipped and tore at those 10 toes. It was my first true night road ride and it had been fun. Even in the southern wintry conditions I learned something very important, pros don't walk Bergen.
That was for Drew and, yes, it's an inside joke.
On Thursday I was out riding in the dark again with Andy Jordan and company. We were like patchy alley cats bobbing and weaving throughout indiscriminate side streets and back alleys etched into downtown Augusta. Somehow we piled on 20 miles without leaving the city and even ascended a surprisingly tough climb to Augusta State College and the old Jordan homestead (as Andy puts it(not a curse)). It wasn't quite as cold as Tuesday, just (damn) blustery.
There is something about riding in the cold night that is almost...poetic? I'm not sure how to explain myself.
On Sunday I somehow managed to con my buddy, Zack, into breaking out the Trance for a ride at the FATS. I took my singlespeed, of course, and we took a pretty easy spin out Deep Step and Skinny Trails. Zack doesn't ride much so the pace is always significantly in the decrease, but I enjoy his company, plus, it always makes me feel special inside when I can get someone else to ride.
What else do I always do on Sunday? The Sundaily!
This week it was Radiohead's hypnotic album "Amnesiac" which I've always been a huge fan of, but never owned. Well, now I'm owning (that shit).
And that's not all the music that was had.
Oh, yes, Dan Gescheider and I lit up the storage space music scene on Jimmie Dyess Parkway on both Saturday and Sunday. We now have two (kick ass) tracks solidified and Dan also has at least two more pieces of material to be developed in the near future. I just need to come up with some ideas for my drumming on those two tracks and we will be set.
(Holy shit) We still need a vocalist!
Mom, what is it about this late night jazz music (shit) on NPR that makes me feel so mellow? It makes me feel so mellow I feel inclined to curse to balance my yin with my yang (see parentheses).
The toes were mine and it was Tuesday night.
I was out riding with Andy Jordan and others in North Augusta, SC with bright headlights and uber winter riding gear. We rode a 20 mile loop that took us zigzagging through neighborhoods, across I-20, and up the constantly underestimated Bergen Road climb. Near the end of the ride as we rode down the Greenway, a paved recreation path that follows the Savannah River, the somewhat colder than (hell) 40 degree farenheit wind whipped and tore at those 10 toes. It was my first true night road ride and it had been fun. Even in the southern wintry conditions I learned something very important, pros don't walk Bergen.
That was for Drew and, yes, it's an inside joke.
On Thursday I was out riding in the dark again with Andy Jordan and company. We were like patchy alley cats bobbing and weaving throughout indiscriminate side streets and back alleys etched into downtown Augusta. Somehow we piled on 20 miles without leaving the city and even ascended a surprisingly tough climb to Augusta State College and the old Jordan homestead (as Andy puts it(not a curse)). It wasn't quite as cold as Tuesday, just (damn) blustery.
There is something about riding in the cold night that is almost...poetic? I'm not sure how to explain myself.
On Sunday I somehow managed to con my buddy, Zack, into breaking out the Trance for a ride at the FATS. I took my singlespeed, of course, and we took a pretty easy spin out Deep Step and Skinny Trails. Zack doesn't ride much so the pace is always significantly in the decrease, but I enjoy his company, plus, it always makes me feel special inside when I can get someone else to ride.
What else do I always do on Sunday? The Sundaily!
This week it was Radiohead's hypnotic album "Amnesiac" which I've always been a huge fan of, but never owned. Well, now I'm owning (that shit).
And that's not all the music that was had.
Oh, yes, Dan Gescheider and I lit up the storage space music scene on Jimmie Dyess Parkway on both Saturday and Sunday. We now have two (kick ass) tracks solidified and Dan also has at least two more pieces of material to be developed in the near future. I just need to come up with some ideas for my drumming on those two tracks and we will be set.
(Holy shit) We still need a vocalist!
Mom, what is it about this late night jazz music (shit) on NPR that makes me feel so mellow? It makes me feel so mellow I feel inclined to curse to balance my yin with my yang (see parentheses).
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Nonsense: This Should Have Been Posted Last Sunday
We all want things. As humans we will always want.
I have a friend named Jorge who wants something. He wants electricity, or better yet, a new place to live.
Sometime two weeks ago, Jorge’s room mate, who is in charge of paying the bills, uprooted and moved out of the shared apartment. Not only did all of Jorge’s room mate’s clothing, furniture, and his general bodily presence disappear, but so did the electricity. When Zach and I arrived at Jorge’s apartment on Friday night to begin a period of voluntary inebriation we found ourselves thrust into a universe running parallel to our own, one without electricity.
In the dark, we gingerly picked our way around the numerous Uhaul boxes littering the living room floor. Jorge was seated in a corner of the room in one of five dining chairs encircling a dining table that was not there. A Maglite stood on the counter its beam aimed at the ceiling above it. Next to the Maglite a lone candle flickered silently like a candle in a house with no electricity would.
“Five days. Fiiive days. No power.” Jorge raved. “No hot showers. No heat or air conditioning. Nothing for five days.”
Jorge went on to tell us how he lost his mind on the first night, because he had to sit in the dark with nothing to do, but by the third and fourth nights he began to find it quite relaxing to come home to the darkness, away from work and the world. It was something of a sanctuary in which he could spend time reflecting on his life or he could peacefully sit and read a book by the tongue of flame licking the dark atmosphere of his apartment. We were even bold enough to start a group discussion regarding voluntarily living without electricity for a given period of time, say a week, just to see what it would be like. For me the whole concept was a trip down memory lane to times when the wintry wonderland of West Virginia would come crashing down on the power lines of the Spencer community, halting modern life as we knew it. Evenings were spent around the dinner table playing cards our shadows cast by our hurricane lamp centerpiece. As our modern commodities faded around us we were brought together as a family on the Bolte farm in those harsh times simply enjoying each other’s company, just as Zach, Jorge, and I were.
Trading off electricity to better enjoy the company of those around you?
A blessing in disguise?
Continuing, Jorge isn’t the only person that wants something. I want something too. I want to feel good about riding again. Since my participation in the Tour de Fort on October 22nd and the completion of 180 miles of nonstop road “fun” I have not had the desire to get on one of my aluminum ponies and do what I do best. I now find myself slightly into December and still have not touched a bike. This is a disturbing lapse of time that leads me to honestly feel like a poser within my precious cycling community. Even with this knowledge I still found it impossible to overcome my guilt and just get riding. What was wrong with me? In November I had my four impacted wisdom teeth surgically removed from mouth. For six days after the surgery I was essentially bedridden and was involuntarily prohibited from physical activity. It was in this painful and depressive state that I suddenly found myself wishing I was outside enjoying the weather on one of my multiple cycling contraptions.
Was this my humbling blessing in disguise?
By the end of the weekend Jorge found a roof to sleep under and promptly moved in and began enjoying his return to the world of power. I even helped him move a piece of furniture to his new residence and afterwards we went out for dinner in a restaurant lit by electricity. As we talked about life, relationships, and the future I began to realize something. Whatever capacity you are enjoying the company of friends in, whether it is by candle light or electric light, friends are more important than electricity or anything else will ever be.
As for me, other than having corny revelations about the world around me, I also got what I wanted. My friend Drew invited me out to the FATS for a trail ride on Sunday. Now I had to ride whether I felt like it or not. Would my inner feelings change or would I still feel burnt out?
On December 3rd my six week riding slump ended. As the cold rain sprinkled down on my windshield as I left Fort Gordon on that Sunday morning I was unusually impassive toward the occurrence. On a normal day I would silently, or vocally, curse the sky for trying to ruin my forthcoming ride in the forest. Instead, I found myself looking into my rearview mirror at the dark green frame of my single speed that was latched to my tailgate. Yes, he knew what was coming and was just as excited as I suddenly found myself to be.
As Drew, Jason, and I pedaled through the rolling woodland terrain of FATS our tires crunched the remnants of the blazed autumn leaves, serenading the return to nature. As the tempo of the crinkling and mashing symphony increased so did the happiness. A smile spread across my face that would not fade for many hours afterward. I thought of this as I rode.
A question was once posed to a group of WVMBA riders by an IMBA representative at an event that I cannot recall. The question was, what has mountain biking done for you? At least two individuals stated that mountain biking had saved their lives. Riding rescued one man from the bowels of obesity while the other was turned away from a dark period of his life and turned on to a reason to live a better life. The IMBA man was shocked. He had never heard such a serious response.
Mountain biking did not save my life. Mountain biking and cycling are my life. It brings me an inner happiness that nothing else can. I’m here to ride.
So, if you feel like you are in a slump or don’t have the desire to ride, but know you should be, grab a friend, saddle up, and get riding.
Finally, there is yet another person that wants something from this cruel heartless world. Drew Jordan wants a sticker that says “I (heart) blogging”, and I hope he gets it, because I want that shit too.
I have a friend named Jorge who wants something. He wants electricity, or better yet, a new place to live.
Sometime two weeks ago, Jorge’s room mate, who is in charge of paying the bills, uprooted and moved out of the shared apartment. Not only did all of Jorge’s room mate’s clothing, furniture, and his general bodily presence disappear, but so did the electricity. When Zach and I arrived at Jorge’s apartment on Friday night to begin a period of voluntary inebriation we found ourselves thrust into a universe running parallel to our own, one without electricity.
In the dark, we gingerly picked our way around the numerous Uhaul boxes littering the living room floor. Jorge was seated in a corner of the room in one of five dining chairs encircling a dining table that was not there. A Maglite stood on the counter its beam aimed at the ceiling above it. Next to the Maglite a lone candle flickered silently like a candle in a house with no electricity would.
“Five days. Fiiive days. No power.” Jorge raved. “No hot showers. No heat or air conditioning. Nothing for five days.”
Jorge went on to tell us how he lost his mind on the first night, because he had to sit in the dark with nothing to do, but by the third and fourth nights he began to find it quite relaxing to come home to the darkness, away from work and the world. It was something of a sanctuary in which he could spend time reflecting on his life or he could peacefully sit and read a book by the tongue of flame licking the dark atmosphere of his apartment. We were even bold enough to start a group discussion regarding voluntarily living without electricity for a given period of time, say a week, just to see what it would be like. For me the whole concept was a trip down memory lane to times when the wintry wonderland of West Virginia would come crashing down on the power lines of the Spencer community, halting modern life as we knew it. Evenings were spent around the dinner table playing cards our shadows cast by our hurricane lamp centerpiece. As our modern commodities faded around us we were brought together as a family on the Bolte farm in those harsh times simply enjoying each other’s company, just as Zach, Jorge, and I were.
Trading off electricity to better enjoy the company of those around you?
A blessing in disguise?
Continuing, Jorge isn’t the only person that wants something. I want something too. I want to feel good about riding again. Since my participation in the Tour de Fort on October 22nd and the completion of 180 miles of nonstop road “fun” I have not had the desire to get on one of my aluminum ponies and do what I do best. I now find myself slightly into December and still have not touched a bike. This is a disturbing lapse of time that leads me to honestly feel like a poser within my precious cycling community. Even with this knowledge I still found it impossible to overcome my guilt and just get riding. What was wrong with me? In November I had my four impacted wisdom teeth surgically removed from mouth. For six days after the surgery I was essentially bedridden and was involuntarily prohibited from physical activity. It was in this painful and depressive state that I suddenly found myself wishing I was outside enjoying the weather on one of my multiple cycling contraptions.
Was this my humbling blessing in disguise?
By the end of the weekend Jorge found a roof to sleep under and promptly moved in and began enjoying his return to the world of power. I even helped him move a piece of furniture to his new residence and afterwards we went out for dinner in a restaurant lit by electricity. As we talked about life, relationships, and the future I began to realize something. Whatever capacity you are enjoying the company of friends in, whether it is by candle light or electric light, friends are more important than electricity or anything else will ever be.
As for me, other than having corny revelations about the world around me, I also got what I wanted. My friend Drew invited me out to the FATS for a trail ride on Sunday. Now I had to ride whether I felt like it or not. Would my inner feelings change or would I still feel burnt out?
On December 3rd my six week riding slump ended. As the cold rain sprinkled down on my windshield as I left Fort Gordon on that Sunday morning I was unusually impassive toward the occurrence. On a normal day I would silently, or vocally, curse the sky for trying to ruin my forthcoming ride in the forest. Instead, I found myself looking into my rearview mirror at the dark green frame of my single speed that was latched to my tailgate. Yes, he knew what was coming and was just as excited as I suddenly found myself to be.
As Drew, Jason, and I pedaled through the rolling woodland terrain of FATS our tires crunched the remnants of the blazed autumn leaves, serenading the return to nature. As the tempo of the crinkling and mashing symphony increased so did the happiness. A smile spread across my face that would not fade for many hours afterward. I thought of this as I rode.
A question was once posed to a group of WVMBA riders by an IMBA representative at an event that I cannot recall. The question was, what has mountain biking done for you? At least two individuals stated that mountain biking had saved their lives. Riding rescued one man from the bowels of obesity while the other was turned away from a dark period of his life and turned on to a reason to live a better life. The IMBA man was shocked. He had never heard such a serious response.
Mountain biking did not save my life. Mountain biking and cycling are my life. It brings me an inner happiness that nothing else can. I’m here to ride.
So, if you feel like you are in a slump or don’t have the desire to ride, but know you should be, grab a friend, saddle up, and get riding.
Finally, there is yet another person that wants something from this cruel heartless world. Drew Jordan wants a sticker that says “I (heart) blogging”, and I hope he gets it, because I want that shit too.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Rides: Quickly Now
It is lunch time on Fort Gordon and I only have 24 minutes of break left.
Yesterday something grand occurred. I rode a bicycle for the first time in a month. It was also my first coordinated group ride at FATS and it all kicked the max ass. I linked up with Drew Jordan.com and Jason (last name unknown) and we proceeded to blast off on the sweetest single track in South Carolina. By the end of the ride, my month of inactivity caught up with me setting my calves and quads on fire as I struggled up the last climb. I faded hard.
Brown Wave, Skinny, Great Wall. All clockwise. All fun.
If you have a gray dog with black spots and a blue collar, Drew says your an asshole. If this is your dog and you haven't seen it for 24 hours it's at the FATS. Go pick it up and take it home.
I did make it to borders (just barely) to retrieve my Sundaily which just so happened to be Rilo Kiley : The Execution of All Things. Jenny Lewis has a beautifully pleasing and addictive voice, almost as addictive as Burt's Beeswax (don't hate!).
Sorry for the shortness.
Out.
Yesterday something grand occurred. I rode a bicycle for the first time in a month. It was also my first coordinated group ride at FATS and it all kicked the max ass. I linked up with Drew Jordan.com and Jason (last name unknown) and we proceeded to blast off on the sweetest single track in South Carolina. By the end of the ride, my month of inactivity caught up with me setting my calves and quads on fire as I struggled up the last climb. I faded hard.
Brown Wave, Skinny, Great Wall. All clockwise. All fun.
If you have a gray dog with black spots and a blue collar, Drew says your an asshole. If this is your dog and you haven't seen it for 24 hours it's at the FATS. Go pick it up and take it home.
I did make it to borders (just barely) to retrieve my Sundaily which just so happened to be Rilo Kiley : The Execution of All Things. Jenny Lewis has a beautifully pleasing and addictive voice, almost as addictive as Burt's Beeswax (don't hate!).
Sorry for the shortness.
Out.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Nonsense: Hectivity
Tomorrow is December 1st...Happy December!
Do you know what is ill about December in Georgia? The weather is literally ill.
Warm, muggy, rainy, shit.
Those are four clever adjectives that wonderfully describe the climate conditions in the southern armpit of the United States of America during the long winter months. Oh, there will be no snow. No Jack Frost nipping at your nose. This is not the North. This is Hell.
Well, I must admit I've had a great week thus far (tomorrow is Friday). I'm finally getting over the whole oral surgery and I currently find myself 85% percent recovered. I still cannot conduct any physical training which is somewhat annoying and devastating. A few nights ago I proceeded to put myself through 20 god awful push ups to see how I would feel.
Two minutes post exercise someone started beating a bass drum inside my crazy head to the rythm of my heart's pumping. My ears soon began ringing incesstantly and my mouth began throbbing. I dumped Ibuprofen into my stomach and passed out.
This heart rate will not be got up until next week. All bets are off.
So, I'll get myself phat. Phat on Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream (it's so good!).
Seriously though, things at work have picked up again and it's so fulfilling to go in for eight hours a day, do the job I was trained to do, and earn my paycheck instead of watching TV until I fall asleep. Super fulfilling.
Due to my lack of physical participation in my free time I have been reading anything I can get my eyes on. My new book is "Unholy War: Terror in the Name of Jihad". It's a really informative book that shines light on how Islamic extremists use their faith to drive their Jihad against people that they don't agree with (I'll put a Jihad on you!). So far (first 50 pages) it's extremely dry, because the author is explaining the Islamic background (Muhammed and whatnot), but if your interested in learning about the faith it's a good read, 'caues it's in dumb ass terms too...cuz.
I also read an article on CNN.com about a man in Florida who was attacked by an alligator. The man was found right armless, naked, and admitted to smoking crack cocaine prior to the incident.
Crack is whack!
Reading is so much fun!
I like to save the best for last. I'm talking about the band. Dan and I had another practice session and we are solid on the development of our first piece. We just don't have any vocals! No one has applied yet. We are at a loss. Spread the word to your friends. We need to complete our sound.
After all those crazy ramblings from a hydrocodone afflicted southern hater I'll leave you with this final quote of negativity.
"What is it about this place (Augusta)? I feel like I'm slowly dying. It's killing all of us."
- Zach T. Jaenisch
Do you know what is ill about December in Georgia? The weather is literally ill.
Warm, muggy, rainy, shit.
Those are four clever adjectives that wonderfully describe the climate conditions in the southern armpit of the United States of America during the long winter months. Oh, there will be no snow. No Jack Frost nipping at your nose. This is not the North. This is Hell.
Well, I must admit I've had a great week thus far (tomorrow is Friday). I'm finally getting over the whole oral surgery and I currently find myself 85% percent recovered. I still cannot conduct any physical training which is somewhat annoying and devastating. A few nights ago I proceeded to put myself through 20 god awful push ups to see how I would feel.
Two minutes post exercise someone started beating a bass drum inside my crazy head to the rythm of my heart's pumping. My ears soon began ringing incesstantly and my mouth began throbbing. I dumped Ibuprofen into my stomach and passed out.
This heart rate will not be got up until next week. All bets are off.
So, I'll get myself phat. Phat on Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream (it's so good!).
Seriously though, things at work have picked up again and it's so fulfilling to go in for eight hours a day, do the job I was trained to do, and earn my paycheck instead of watching TV until I fall asleep. Super fulfilling.
Due to my lack of physical participation in my free time I have been reading anything I can get my eyes on. My new book is "Unholy War: Terror in the Name of Jihad". It's a really informative book that shines light on how Islamic extremists use their faith to drive their Jihad against people that they don't agree with (I'll put a Jihad on you!). So far (first 50 pages) it's extremely dry, because the author is explaining the Islamic background (Muhammed and whatnot), but if your interested in learning about the faith it's a good read, 'caues it's in dumb ass terms too...cuz.
I also read an article on CNN.com about a man in Florida who was attacked by an alligator. The man was found right armless, naked, and admitted to smoking crack cocaine prior to the incident.
Crack is whack!
Reading is so much fun!
I like to save the best for last. I'm talking about the band. Dan and I had another practice session and we are solid on the development of our first piece. We just don't have any vocals! No one has applied yet. We are at a loss. Spread the word to your friends. We need to complete our sound.
After all those crazy ramblings from a hydrocodone afflicted southern hater I'll leave you with this final quote of negativity.
"What is it about this place (Augusta)? I feel like I'm slowly dying. It's killing all of us."
- Zach T. Jaenisch
Monday, November 27, 2006
Nonsense: Real Food
Today was a pretty normal Monday. I woke up and life sucked. I am alive though, so I guess I should shut up about that.
I suppose today is somewhat special since I did chew for the first time in six days...twice. First I triumphantly strolled into Burger King on post and picked up some breakfast foodstuffs and then followed up later this evening at Logan's Roadhouse with some much needed shrimp. I took my ex-riding buddy Zach to Logan's and we chatted about his experiences at "how to be a sergeant school" which I will be attending in January. Apparently it sucked too, but enough about that.
Ok, so that was pretty much it. Boring day right?
I read in the news that the black community is waging (the black community being Reverend Jesse Jackson (God bless him)) war against the "N-word". Apparently the community (Jackson) is going to confront big time media ballers about removing the "N-word" from their respective productions.
In Islam one must do a Jihad on themself before they can Jihad others.
Good Luck!
I suppose today is somewhat special since I did chew for the first time in six days...twice. First I triumphantly strolled into Burger King on post and picked up some breakfast foodstuffs and then followed up later this evening at Logan's Roadhouse with some much needed shrimp. I took my ex-riding buddy Zach to Logan's and we chatted about his experiences at "how to be a sergeant school" which I will be attending in January. Apparently it sucked too, but enough about that.
Ok, so that was pretty much it. Boring day right?
I read in the news that the black community is waging (the black community being Reverend Jesse Jackson (God bless him)) war against the "N-word". Apparently the community (Jackson) is going to confront big time media ballers about removing the "N-word" from their respective productions.
In Islam one must do a Jihad on themself before they can Jihad others.
Good Luck!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Nonsense: Band
First off let me just say that hydrocodone will fuck you up. I took two little white pills before I went to sleep last night and shit damn!
I woke up about 45 minutes later (2230) and the room was spinning and I had the odd sensation that I was melting into my bed. I also felt like throwing up, was sweating profusely, and as I continued to drift in and out of the sleep realm had some horrendous nightmares.
Melting into my bed! At least I wasn't in any pain I suppose.
I was only a little bit dizzy when I woke up for good at 0700 this morning, but that came out later with a quick 30 minute nap somewhere around 1000. A lot of the pain and swelling had dissipated from my mangled mouth and I was able to have a pretty normal day.
Sweet!
I went to Borders to pick up the highly anticipated Sundaily this week which was, duh, The Decemberists, Crane Wife. It's the latest addition to these vagabond's complex discography collection and after seeing The Decemberists live in Chicago I had to own this album.
It really is worth buying, so do it!
Moving on to other rad news, "The Band" had its first official practice today. I helped Dan Gescheider move all of his guitar equipment out to my storage locker on Dyess Parkway and we jammed for about two hours getting absolutely no where musically, but had fun doing it. Our violinist Yu Chin Chao was busy driving home from New Jersey, so, he didn't make the session, but there will be more chances in the future.
We are still looking for a bassist and vocalist, but don't really care if we find one or the other.
Apply within.
I woke up about 45 minutes later (2230) and the room was spinning and I had the odd sensation that I was melting into my bed. I also felt like throwing up, was sweating profusely, and as I continued to drift in and out of the sleep realm had some horrendous nightmares.
Melting into my bed! At least I wasn't in any pain I suppose.
I was only a little bit dizzy when I woke up for good at 0700 this morning, but that came out later with a quick 30 minute nap somewhere around 1000. A lot of the pain and swelling had dissipated from my mangled mouth and I was able to have a pretty normal day.
Sweet!
I went to Borders to pick up the highly anticipated Sundaily this week which was, duh, The Decemberists, Crane Wife. It's the latest addition to these vagabond's complex discography collection and after seeing The Decemberists live in Chicago I had to own this album.
It really is worth buying, so do it!
Moving on to other rad news, "The Band" had its first official practice today. I helped Dan Gescheider move all of his guitar equipment out to my storage locker on Dyess Parkway and we jammed for about two hours getting absolutely no where musically, but had fun doing it. Our violinist Yu Chin Chao was busy driving home from New Jersey, so, he didn't make the session, but there will be more chances in the future.
We are still looking for a bassist and vocalist, but don't really care if we find one or the other.
Apply within.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Nonsense: The Day After Thanksgiving
This whole wisdom teeth thing is actually pretty annoying. I thought my condition was supposed to progress in a positive direction, not a negative one. The first two days were pain and swelling free so I expected a speedy recovery and a possible road trip for my Thanksgiving holiday. Of course, on the third day my situation 180'd, my cheeks blew up, and now I have to take the hydrocodone to sleep at night. This shit really does hurt after a while.
Anyway, enough bitching. I'll get better one day.
(I'd keep writing, but I think I'll go lay down instead).
Anyway, enough bitching. I'll get better one day.
(I'd keep writing, but I think I'll go lay down instead).
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Nonsense: Thanksgiving
As I lay in my bed for the third morning in a row watching the sitcom "My Name is Earl" with blood, chocolate ice cream, and Chicken and Stars (for Kids!) caked on my horrible lips, it dawned on me that if I wasn't going to do something constructive like ride a bicycle today, I could at least make the effort to make a post on my blog.
So, here I am.
Sadly, I must admit that when I walked into the Augusta/Aiken Oral and Facial Surgery facility on the morning of the 21st I was completely and utterly SCARED.
Yes, I said it. Scared.
For the week prior to my surgery I had been having a recurring nightmare that I would wake up mid operation and freak out. So, it was with nervous anticipation that I was led into the operating room, helped into my chair of doom, and had my IV started. Doctor Bakeman came into the room, said good morning to me, did something to my IV, and...
...The next thing I remember is riding in SGT Lee's blazer back to Fort Gordon holding an ice pack to my ear thinking it was my cell phone. There was no horrible wake up in the middle of my operation in which I could feel Doctor Bakeman's scalpel slicing away at my gums. Dreams sometimes don't come true and that's a good thing.
The whole experience hasn't been that bad. I've had very little pain or swelling up until this morning when my cheeks did poke out like a chipmunk's (or squirrel's). I'd say the worst part of it all is the fact that I haven't taken a shower for three days and I smell like a dirt bag. I also can't go out and eat a real meal of food. I have to stick to the essentials like Campbell's Chicken and Stars (for Kids!).
Mostly I just lay in bed watching DVDs and thinking of how much cooler my life would be if I was still in Chicago.
I went on leave to Chicago from the 9th to the 17th of November to visit my brother Joey and the Trish who now lives there. I think we did pretty well riding the EL, going to rock shows, seeing movies, and cruising the downtown area. I found this huge complex city of eight million human beans so intriguing that I would like to take back any bad things I've ever said about urban environments being inferior to nature. The city is actually a pretty rad place and I find myself missing it so, I think I'll write a poem about it and post it later. Besides, if I was a bike messenger in a gargantuan city I could ride a singlespeed just as much as if I was camped out in Pisgah (and make money doing it too). It was also good to drive through West Virginia to see and visit with family. Thanks for the baby pictures grandma and I will mail them back to you (I promise).
For those of you who don't know I'm supposedly in/starting a band these days. Yes, that's right, a band. Right now we consist of a guitarist, violinist, and a drummer. No material, no lyrics, not even a practice to our name. It's a little rough getting things like this off of the ground, especially when the guitarist works a schedule opposite of everyone else, but we'll keep trying to make it happen and see where it goes.
I'll keep you posted.
Finally, I haven't touched a bike for about two weeks which is depressing, but sometimes I guess you just burn out...or go on leave. Actually that's all a lie, I'm touching a bike right now, I just haven't ridden it for two weeks. Seriously, prior to going on leave I found it hard to have a good time while riding a bike and I fear that I might have burnt out on riding. This is due possbily to the fact that I ride the same trails/routes over and over again or maybe it's just that time of the year when Charlie burns out on riding. I really don't know, but I'm going to find some other things to do until I bounce back and have the desire to ride again.
I really think I just need a change of scenery.
Oh, so it's Thanksgiving. Well, I give thanks to lots of things; Chicken and Stars, chocolate ice cream, country berry scented candles, bicycles, friends that make me smile, Chicago, snow, finally taking a shower, and looking forward to a time when I can eat solid foods again.
Happy Thanksgiving!
(Sorry for the 23 day period of silence...it happens).
So, here I am.
Sadly, I must admit that when I walked into the Augusta/Aiken Oral and Facial Surgery facility on the morning of the 21st I was completely and utterly SCARED.
Yes, I said it. Scared.
For the week prior to my surgery I had been having a recurring nightmare that I would wake up mid operation and freak out. So, it was with nervous anticipation that I was led into the operating room, helped into my chair of doom, and had my IV started. Doctor Bakeman came into the room, said good morning to me, did something to my IV, and...
...The next thing I remember is riding in SGT Lee's blazer back to Fort Gordon holding an ice pack to my ear thinking it was my cell phone. There was no horrible wake up in the middle of my operation in which I could feel Doctor Bakeman's scalpel slicing away at my gums. Dreams sometimes don't come true and that's a good thing.
The whole experience hasn't been that bad. I've had very little pain or swelling up until this morning when my cheeks did poke out like a chipmunk's (or squirrel's). I'd say the worst part of it all is the fact that I haven't taken a shower for three days and I smell like a dirt bag. I also can't go out and eat a real meal of food. I have to stick to the essentials like Campbell's Chicken and Stars (for Kids!).
Mostly I just lay in bed watching DVDs and thinking of how much cooler my life would be if I was still in Chicago.
I went on leave to Chicago from the 9th to the 17th of November to visit my brother Joey and the Trish who now lives there. I think we did pretty well riding the EL, going to rock shows, seeing movies, and cruising the downtown area. I found this huge complex city of eight million human beans so intriguing that I would like to take back any bad things I've ever said about urban environments being inferior to nature. The city is actually a pretty rad place and I find myself missing it so, I think I'll write a poem about it and post it later. Besides, if I was a bike messenger in a gargantuan city I could ride a singlespeed just as much as if I was camped out in Pisgah (and make money doing it too). It was also good to drive through West Virginia to see and visit with family. Thanks for the baby pictures grandma and I will mail them back to you (I promise).
For those of you who don't know I'm supposedly in/starting a band these days. Yes, that's right, a band. Right now we consist of a guitarist, violinist, and a drummer. No material, no lyrics, not even a practice to our name. It's a little rough getting things like this off of the ground, especially when the guitarist works a schedule opposite of everyone else, but we'll keep trying to make it happen and see where it goes.
I'll keep you posted.
Finally, I haven't touched a bike for about two weeks which is depressing, but sometimes I guess you just burn out...or go on leave. Actually that's all a lie, I'm touching a bike right now, I just haven't ridden it for two weeks. Seriously, prior to going on leave I found it hard to have a good time while riding a bike and I fear that I might have burnt out on riding. This is due possbily to the fact that I ride the same trails/routes over and over again or maybe it's just that time of the year when Charlie burns out on riding. I really don't know, but I'm going to find some other things to do until I bounce back and have the desire to ride again.
I really think I just need a change of scenery.
Oh, so it's Thanksgiving. Well, I give thanks to lots of things; Chicken and Stars, chocolate ice cream, country berry scented candles, bicycles, friends that make me smile, Chicago, snow, finally taking a shower, and looking forward to a time when I can eat solid foods again.
Happy Thanksgiving!
(Sorry for the 23 day period of silence...it happens).
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Nonsense: Anyway
I have not had the time or energy to write of late. I have probably lost more than a few subscribers due to that fault. Last week was extremely busy and I only had enough free time to return to my barracks room and sleep. This weekend was mostly counter productive, but I did take the time to wash my onward Tacoma. I suppose I could have smithed a few words over my two days of freedom, but I was lacking the inspiration.
Apologies.
Apologies.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Rides: Endurance
I must be brief.
On Saturday I did "compete" in the Tour de Fort 12 hour endurance road race. It was quite an experience and I am glad to have done it, but I'm not sure it's something I would like to do again. It would not have been the same without my friends Zach and Lee who spent their Saturday handing me water bottles and fig newtons. I can't thank them enough. In the end I rode the 15 mile loop 11 times for a total of 165 miles.
I can still feel the saddle in my ass.
This week's Sundaily just happened to be a band named Muse. I almost bought their album (who's name I can't recall at this time) purely for it's outrageous cover art. Don't worry, the music is equal in its own outrageousisity.
This week I'll be working darling 12 hour shifts for the entire week, so, if your a frequent reader don't expect to hear from me until the weekend.
Aren't we all excited for Halloween?
On Saturday I did "compete" in the Tour de Fort 12 hour endurance road race. It was quite an experience and I am glad to have done it, but I'm not sure it's something I would like to do again. It would not have been the same without my friends Zach and Lee who spent their Saturday handing me water bottles and fig newtons. I can't thank them enough. In the end I rode the 15 mile loop 11 times for a total of 165 miles.
I can still feel the saddle in my ass.
This week's Sundaily just happened to be a band named Muse. I almost bought their album (who's name I can't recall at this time) purely for it's outrageous cover art. Don't worry, the music is equal in its own outrageousisity.
This week I'll be working darling 12 hour shifts for the entire week, so, if your a frequent reader don't expect to hear from me until the weekend.
Aren't we all excited for Halloween?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Rides: Shortest Post Ever
Yesterday it began raining sweet little rain drops from the sky, so, I opted to deny myself a ride on the Orbea.
Today I was able to get in 27 miles under dreary skies which, fortunately, did not rain on me. It was a short ride, but was required to begin tapering for the upcoming 12 hour event on Saturday.
Wish me luck...I guess.
Also today, I got my jagged little front tooth fixed, but found out that I need about 5 other teethers cut out mah greel.
Suck!
Today I was able to get in 27 miles under dreary skies which, fortunately, did not rain on me. It was a short ride, but was required to begin tapering for the upcoming 12 hour event on Saturday.
Wish me luck...I guess.
Also today, I got my jagged little front tooth fixed, but found out that I need about 5 other teethers cut out mah greel.
Suck!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Journeys: Atlanta (October 13th and 14th)
I suppose I could write some really cleverly critical piece that bashes society as we know it in Atlanta. I suppose I could rant and rave about how ridiculous it is that I hand out quarters to homeless crackheads one moment only to turn a corner to watch a man, who gets paid millions of dollars to throw an orange ball at net, sign autographs. I'm sure I could get down and dirty and slanderously attack the mayor of the city, even though I have no idea who he is, and try to express my feelings on how backwards the world is. Actually, I just don't give a fuck. It's life. The homeless crackhead will save his quarters and buy more crack, shaq will keep lobbing those orange balls, and I, well, I will just keep living.
Atlanta is a nice city anyway...I wouldn't rag on the mayor. (Whoever he is).
I left work as early as possible on Friday night (the 13th!) and made it to the Tabernacle just in time to see the Nintendo Fusion Tour kick off.
The first band was "The Sleeping" from New York. Typical screamo, but it was good enough.
Next up was "The Plain White T's" a group from Chicago with an upbeat clean sound. Not much else though.
Third band was "Emery", another screamo group that had a totally whacked out keyboardist/screamer who pulled a nice stunt when he stood on the hands of his screaming fans in the pit. I wish I could've taken a picture.
Fourth up was "Relient K" from Ohio. They had a huge fan base at the show, but I didn't think they were all that wonderful. I just couldn't really get down with it.
What I did think was wonderful was the show that "Hawthorne Heights" put on. They brought out the big lights and everything. By that time the Tabernacle was packed and the crowd was awesome. Pictureless and deaf I left somewhere near midnight for the Travel Lodge just down the street.
Wandering the streets at 0100 looking for food I ran into a 60 year old bum that asked me if I hated African Americans. I responded with a negative and we talked of his past experiences riding a boxcar into Atlanta. I told him if he could show me an open restaurant I would give him a few dollars towards that bread and baloney (crack) that he wanted to buy to feed his wife.
He took me to Hooters. Whatever.
The next day I woke up at about 1000 (lazy I know) and drove to the Woodruff Arts Center to check out the Louvre in Atlanta display at the High Museum of Art. I guess it was cool if you were a 50 year old white dude trying to impress your mother with your art buff-like knowledge on Louis XIV's art collection. I haven't even seen MY mother in 6 months.
So, I lasted about 45 minutes in that awful place, leaving with an aching back and a bad attitude. I did take a picture.
It took another homeless crackhead to lead me to the nearest Marta (subway) station. There I boarded the southbound to check out the Five Points district and Underground Atlanta.
Five Points was basically a crackhead hang out and shopping area and Underground Atlanta was a small underground mall. The end.
I strolled down Peachtree Street for a while and ran into a Starbucks. I purchased coffee. Shortly there after another homeless crackhead tried to take a drink of my coffee as I walked past him on the street.
Crackhead etiquette.
I continued to kill time until the Yeah Yeah Yeah's show at the Tabernacle by strolling the downtown area. Eventually I got back on the Marta to pick my truck up and then made my way to the venue.
I feel that I can't describe too much of the Yeah Yeah Yeah's performance because I don't want to ruin it for certain civilian personnel who are jealous that they have not yet seen the Yeah Yeah Yeah's live. I will respect that jealousy. If you are not Trish and you want to know more please call me at 706-513-4938.
Otherwise, the show was insane! The crowd was definitely bigger than the Hawthorne Heights show me and everyone was going nuts! Karen O can really work the crowd too. She was quite wonderful.
Anyway, that's it...!
P.S. I know I'm behind on the Northern Georgia bit, but I hope to have it together tomorrow!
Atlanta is a nice city anyway...I wouldn't rag on the mayor. (Whoever he is).
I left work as early as possible on Friday night (the 13th!) and made it to the Tabernacle just in time to see the Nintendo Fusion Tour kick off.
The first band was "The Sleeping" from New York. Typical screamo, but it was good enough.
Next up was "The Plain White T's" a group from Chicago with an upbeat clean sound. Not much else though.
Third band was "Emery", another screamo group that had a totally whacked out keyboardist/screamer who pulled a nice stunt when he stood on the hands of his screaming fans in the pit. I wish I could've taken a picture.
Fourth up was "Relient K" from Ohio. They had a huge fan base at the show, but I didn't think they were all that wonderful. I just couldn't really get down with it.
What I did think was wonderful was the show that "Hawthorne Heights" put on. They brought out the big lights and everything. By that time the Tabernacle was packed and the crowd was awesome. Pictureless and deaf I left somewhere near midnight for the Travel Lodge just down the street.
Wandering the streets at 0100 looking for food I ran into a 60 year old bum that asked me if I hated African Americans. I responded with a negative and we talked of his past experiences riding a boxcar into Atlanta. I told him if he could show me an open restaurant I would give him a few dollars towards that bread and baloney (crack) that he wanted to buy to feed his wife.
He took me to Hooters. Whatever.
The next day I woke up at about 1000 (lazy I know) and drove to the Woodruff Arts Center to check out the Louvre in Atlanta display at the High Museum of Art. I guess it was cool if you were a 50 year old white dude trying to impress your mother with your art buff-like knowledge on Louis XIV's art collection. I haven't even seen MY mother in 6 months.
So, I lasted about 45 minutes in that awful place, leaving with an aching back and a bad attitude. I did take a picture.
It took another homeless crackhead to lead me to the nearest Marta (subway) station. There I boarded the southbound to check out the Five Points district and Underground Atlanta.
Five Points was basically a crackhead hang out and shopping area and Underground Atlanta was a small underground mall. The end.
I strolled down Peachtree Street for a while and ran into a Starbucks. I purchased coffee. Shortly there after another homeless crackhead tried to take a drink of my coffee as I walked past him on the street.
Crackhead etiquette.
I continued to kill time until the Yeah Yeah Yeah's show at the Tabernacle by strolling the downtown area. Eventually I got back on the Marta to pick my truck up and then made my way to the venue.
I feel that I can't describe too much of the Yeah Yeah Yeah's performance because I don't want to ruin it for certain civilian personnel who are jealous that they have not yet seen the Yeah Yeah Yeah's live. I will respect that jealousy. If you are not Trish and you want to know more please call me at 706-513-4938.
Otherwise, the show was insane! The crowd was definitely bigger than the Hawthorne Heights show me and everyone was going nuts! Karen O can really work the crowd too. She was quite wonderful.
Anyway, that's it...!
P.S. I know I'm behind on the Northern Georgia bit, but I hope to have it together tomorrow!
Rides: Ride Report
Just a few quick riding notes.
Yesterday (Sunday) I had a killer ride at FATS. Cranked the whole 30 miles again in 3 hours. I zenned with the trail to perfection, the sun was shining, the squirrels were leaping, it was perfect.
I made it home just in time for a quick 10 mile loop on the Orbea before dark. A good way to finish the day.
Today was strictly a road day. 40 miles on Range Road. It was a dreary day with intense cloud cover and lower temperatures so I broke out my new nylon riding vest for the pedaling.
I'm picking up my pictures from Atlanta in a few minutes so I should have some words posted on the A-town later tonight.
Check it.
Yesterday (Sunday) I had a killer ride at FATS. Cranked the whole 30 miles again in 3 hours. I zenned with the trail to perfection, the sun was shining, the squirrels were leaping, it was perfect.
I made it home just in time for a quick 10 mile loop on the Orbea before dark. A good way to finish the day.
Today was strictly a road day. 40 miles on Range Road. It was a dreary day with intense cloud cover and lower temperatures so I broke out my new nylon riding vest for the pedaling.
I'm picking up my pictures from Atlanta in a few minutes so I should have some words posted on the A-town later tonight.
Check it.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Rides: Very Very Stupid, But Very Very Lucky
Don't ride your road bike at night without a headlight. Just don't do it. So not cool.
The ride started at 1530 with a lap around Range Road. After the lap was complete I road through Augusta to Andy Jordan's for a 20 mile group ride. After the group ride was finished I returned to Fort Gordon. 71 miles total.
The legs are smoked.
This weekend is chock full of activities that occur in the Atlanta town. Tomorrow night is Hawthorne Heights at the Tabernacle. Starts at 1830 and I am killer stoked. Then I'll spend the day of Sat keeping it reals at the High Museum of Art as "the Louvre in Atlanta" opens for viewing. I'm not sure how much of an "art" person I am, but I'll have to try it on for size. Saturday night I will return to the Tabernacle to get down with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to wrap up the weekend.
Stoked.
"Cat was pimp." -Zach
The ride started at 1530 with a lap around Range Road. After the lap was complete I road through Augusta to Andy Jordan's for a 20 mile group ride. After the group ride was finished I returned to Fort Gordon. 71 miles total.
The legs are smoked.
This weekend is chock full of activities that occur in the Atlanta town. Tomorrow night is Hawthorne Heights at the Tabernacle. Starts at 1830 and I am killer stoked. Then I'll spend the day of Sat keeping it reals at the High Museum of Art as "the Louvre in Atlanta" opens for viewing. I'm not sure how much of an "art" person I am, but I'll have to try it on for size. Saturday night I will return to the Tabernacle to get down with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to wrap up the weekend.
Stoked.
"Cat was pimp." -Zach
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Nonsense: Chip On My Tooth
So yesterday, I was at my work place vigorously gnawing on my nails, horrible habit I know, but I've been under some intense work related stress lately and the habit is not kicked at the moment. Anyway, I was chewing away when I felt something extremely gritty and hard roll to the right side of my mouth. It was immediately spit from my mouth. I had no clue what it was. So I was running my tongue over my teeth searching for more of these foreign particles hiding in my mouth when I noticed that my front tooth was missing some of itself.
Yeah, my nails are that rock hard. Damn.
And no I didn't go to the dentist afterwards!
Today I had to throw down 45 lonesome road miles on the Orbea. I started at my self-storage facility and rode to the Warehouse. After some brief chit chat with the AJBW crew I proceeded to ride the Old Nail Road route before returning to my self-storage facility.
I suppose I'm trying to train for the 12 hour endurance race that I'm participating in on the 21st, but it's more of a fun thing, not a competitive thing.
Dude, totally.
Yeah, my nails are that rock hard. Damn.
And no I didn't go to the dentist afterwards!
Today I had to throw down 45 lonesome road miles on the Orbea. I started at my self-storage facility and rode to the Warehouse. After some brief chit chat with the AJBW crew I proceeded to ride the Old Nail Road route before returning to my self-storage facility.
I suppose I'm trying to train for the 12 hour endurance race that I'm participating in on the 21st, but it's more of a fun thing, not a competitive thing.
Dude, totally.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Rides: Blurry
My fire engine red right eye could not hold a contact today. I have some strange weakness in regard to contacts. If I wear them too long during the day my eyes become hyped up on irritation and I am forced to take a break from wearing them for a few days. I wore them too long yesterday.
So, while riding FATS this morning I opted to wear neither my contacts nor my spectacles. It really does make riding that much more fun.
30 miles of the purest nonstop South Carolina singletrack people. Love it. The route was Great Wall to No Name to Brown Wave, back on Skinny, and the finish on Deep Step. Read 'em and weep (that is a picture of FATS you are seeing!).
I tried two new things this evening. Mustard and Wilco.
The mustard came on a panini at Panera Bread (sandwich shop). I'm not really sure how I feel about the whole ordeal of devouring the school bus yellow bittery burning substance. I'll have to sleep on it. Think about it. Dream about it. Write blogs about it.
Wilco is a band. Wilco was this week's Sundaily CD purchase which came by way of a strong recommendation from the Trish. Specifically the album is titled Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and is now one of the slower CDs that I own. Some parts are kind of funky too include the percussion and the lyrics. I, for one, am always down with percussional experimentation/genius. I think this Wilco thing will have to be something I have to be in the mood to listen to, but, I will also have to sleep on it.
Niteys.
So, while riding FATS this morning I opted to wear neither my contacts nor my spectacles. It really does make riding that much more fun.30 miles of the purest nonstop South Carolina singletrack people. Love it. The route was Great Wall to No Name to Brown Wave, back on Skinny, and the finish on Deep Step. Read 'em and weep (that is a picture of FATS you are seeing!).
I tried two new things this evening. Mustard and Wilco.
The mustard came on a panini at Panera Bread (sandwich shop). I'm not really sure how I feel about the whole ordeal of devouring the school bus yellow bittery burning substance. I'll have to sleep on it. Think about it. Dream about it. Write blogs about it.
Wilco is a band. Wilco was this week's Sundaily CD purchase which came by way of a strong recommendation from the Trish. Specifically the album is titled Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and is now one of the slower CDs that I own. Some parts are kind of funky too include the percussion and the lyrics. I, for one, am always down with percussional experimentation/genius. I think this Wilco thing will have to be something I have to be in the mood to listen to, but, I will also have to sleep on it.
Niteys.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Nonsense: Tripping?
The singlespeed expedition to northern Georgia is now over. I know, it was supposed to last until Monday, but certain circumstances, which I'm positive you will read of in the near future, contributed to a premature cessation. The three days of adventuring that I was able to complete were extraordinary and can only be captured in the most unprecedented of blogs which will be conveniently delivered to your eyes and brains as soon as possible.
At this point I must leave you, dearest of readers, with a very important life inquiry that was posed during my travels.
"Chicken, what I have? Or fish?"
- Jessica Simpson
At this point I must leave you, dearest of readers, with a very important life inquiry that was posed during my travels.
"Chicken, what I have? Or fish?"
- Jessica Simpson
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Nonsense: Marshmallow Mateys (Compare To Lucky Charms)
How'd we make Marshmallow Mateys taste so good? We combine whole grain oats with the perfect touch of sweetness and bake it all to perfection using our Crisp Crunch Technology. Then we add pirate-themed marshmallow bits to make your breakfast a special treat. A taste so good we guarantee it!
In other news...
With new rank comes a new room. That's right, instead of riding trail yesterday, I got to move from the 1st floor to the big bad ass 3rd floor. But, hey, what can I say? I'll never have a room mate again and I have the entire room all to my candy self. The whole process took about 6 hours and I got in an awesome calf work out.
Kick ass!
I guess that is all for this week. Tomorrow morning I begin my super awesome singlespeed expedition into northern Georgia until Monday. Oh will there ever be a posting when I return.
One gear, one life.
In other news...
With new rank comes a new room. That's right, instead of riding trail yesterday, I got to move from the 1st floor to the big bad ass 3rd floor. But, hey, what can I say? I'll never have a room mate again and I have the entire room all to my candy self. The whole process took about 6 hours and I got in an awesome calf work out.
Kick ass!
I guess that is all for this week. Tomorrow morning I begin my super awesome singlespeed expedition into northern Georgia until Monday. Oh will there ever be a posting when I return.
One gear, one life.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Nonsense: An Occurance
This morning at 0900 hours the Army saw fit to promote me to the rank of sergeant. There it is. Out in mass media.
Frank the Tank would say:
"Am I supposed to be a different person? I don't feel like a different person."
Thanks Frank.
Tomorrow morning I have a fitness test, hence my lack of riding in the past two days. Besides, they are tired and when legs get tired they get really cranky just like your grandmother. You have to take a break from pedaling every so often and also from grandmothers.
Finally, let us praise the local maintenance crew here on Fort Gordon for reluctantly adjusting the heating and cooling system at our barracks so that it expells air at least one degree farenheit above zero degrees. I don't have to sleep fully dressed anymore.
Thanks guys.
Frank the Tank would say:
"Am I supposed to be a different person? I don't feel like a different person."
Thanks Frank.
Tomorrow morning I have a fitness test, hence my lack of riding in the past two days. Besides, they are tired and when legs get tired they get really cranky just like your grandmother. You have to take a break from pedaling every so often and also from grandmothers.
Finally, let us praise the local maintenance crew here on Fort Gordon for reluctantly adjusting the heating and cooling system at our barracks so that it expells air at least one degree farenheit above zero degrees. I don't have to sleep fully dressed anymore.
Thanks guys.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Rides: Happy October
The scene at FATS was crowded and that's the way it should be. I haven't seen that many riders out letting it happen since I've been riding there. Awesome. I also had the opportunity to ride with another singlespeeding brother, Chris, who was down from Columbia. We had a good chat about sweet trails to ride and then I washed out in a super sandy right turn.
Cheese grater to the right knee please.
I managed just over 20 miles and my leggins are warm and toasty right now. I believe a good stretch is in order before I occupy my sleeping area for the night.
The Sundaily CD purchase for this week was The Decembrists - Her Majesty. It's quite different, but quite good. Steal it, download it, whatever makes you happy. Just check out a track or two.
As this glamorous weekend ends we must look forward to the day in which we will celebrate Columbus's astounding voyage across the puddle. Why it's a federal holiday I'll never know.
Ahoy mateys!
Cheese grater to the right knee please.
I managed just over 20 miles and my leggins are warm and toasty right now. I believe a good stretch is in order before I occupy my sleeping area for the night.
The Sundaily CD purchase for this week was The Decembrists - Her Majesty. It's quite different, but quite good. Steal it, download it, whatever makes you happy. Just check out a track or two.
As this glamorous weekend ends we must look forward to the day in which we will celebrate Columbus's astounding voyage across the puddle. Why it's a federal holiday I'll never know.
Ahoy mateys!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Rides: Walmart!
It's so big and shiny and has lots of plastic things to buy...wooo!
So, I promised myslef no less than 50 miles of road riding today, but the consequence of a Friday night on the town reared its ugly head this morning/afternoon and I only managed a weak 30.
Poison.
Tomorrow I'll be on the trail for definitely. I have my hand pruners in hand.
Finally, I have officially put down Tom Robbins' Still Life With Woodpecker for good at page 40-something. I just can't handle the perversion anymore. Don't read it...just don't.
Sorry Tom.
So, I promised myslef no less than 50 miles of road riding today, but the consequence of a Friday night on the town reared its ugly head this morning/afternoon and I only managed a weak 30.
Poison.
Tomorrow I'll be on the trail for definitely. I have my hand pruners in hand.
Finally, I have officially put down Tom Robbins' Still Life With Woodpecker for good at page 40-something. I just can't handle the perversion anymore. Don't read it...just don't.
Sorry Tom.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Rides: It Sure Is Windy Out!
And it made my damn lips so chapped. They hurt so bad.
After work I snuck in a quick ride on Range Road before heading down to The Warehouse for a shop ride at 1800. It gets dark at about 1900 now, so, things were short and leisurely. So, leisurely it was pretty boring, and, sadly, that was to be my last ride with the shop for the year. I can get in better riding on my own.
Overall I knocked out 32 miles at a medium pace.
This weekend I'll be hanging loose in Augusta. Tomorrow night there is a show at Sector 7 G. Starts at 1800...be there if you're cool.
Saturday = big road ride.
Sunday = big trail ride (and pruning).
Peace to my homies.
After work I snuck in a quick ride on Range Road before heading down to The Warehouse for a shop ride at 1800. It gets dark at about 1900 now, so, things were short and leisurely. So, leisurely it was pretty boring, and, sadly, that was to be my last ride with the shop for the year. I can get in better riding on my own.
Overall I knocked out 32 miles at a medium pace.
This weekend I'll be hanging loose in Augusta. Tomorrow night there is a show at Sector 7 G. Starts at 1800...be there if you're cool.
Saturday = big road ride.
Sunday = big trail ride (and pruning).
Peace to my homies.
Journeys: The Cold Mountain Trek (September 22nd, 23rd, and 24th)
Friday, September 22nd, 2006 - 1500
A forward note:
I did not take a camera with me on this trip and I now sorely regret it. The Shining Rock Wilderness is an extremely beautiful area and I wish I could share the sights with all of you readers, but I know in my heart that it is impossible for me to convey to you just how extraordinary it all was. The lacking adjectives maintained in my humble vocabulary could never do nature justice. If I could take the images that I captured with my mind’s eye, print them on paper stored in my stomach, and shit them out of my ass, I would, but I cannot.
Apparently Mapquest has been giving me the run around this summer. Mapquest now shows that it is much faster to take I-26 to Pisgah instead of Route 25. Who knows how many hours I have lost off of my life taking Route 25 all summer? Thanks fuckers.
The weather in Augusta had been wonderful all week yet; somehow, somehow, it managed to be RAINING when I arrived at the forest. Certain un-named newly civilian personnel are claiming that the rain is a special gift of mine following me wherever I may roam.
Special gift my ass.
That night, when I rolled into the forest pretty much everything that could go wrong did. Of course I could not find an available roadside campsite and of course there would be a traffic delay on Route 276 while I was driving to the Big East Fork trailhead. So, somewhere around 0030 when I did make it to the trailhead parking lot I rolled up my windows, locked my doors, and drifted off into a fitful sleep until 0800.
Sleeping upright will make you have the most fucked up dreams. I promise.
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006 - 0800
When I woke up I had no clue where I was. Who sleeps in the cab of their truck anyway?
I walked around for a few minutes, yawning, until I got my bearings and then packed my backpack to the perfection that I desired it.
Where was I going anyway?
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 1:
Starting at the Big East Fork Trailhead on Route 276 follow the Big East Fork Trail south until you reach its junction with Greasy Cove Trail. Continue by hiking up Greasy Cove Trail to its junction with the Art Loeb Trail and turn north onto the Art Loeb Trail. Follow Art Loeb Trail past Shining Rock, through the Narrows, and in and out of Deep Gap until you reach Cold Mountain Trail. Continue north on Cold Mountain Trail until you crest the top at 6030 feet above sea level and look for a superb location at which to camp.
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 2:
Descend Cold Mountain to the Art Loeb Trail which you will follow south back through Deep Gap and over the Narrows. When you arrive at the Shining Rock feature turn east onto Old Butt Knob Trail and follow it until you reach the Big East Fork parking area.
Get into truck and drive off while listening to favorite tunes.
There are no blazes or trail markers in the Shining Rock Wilderness Area which can create some confusion at trail junctions, especially those which occur at draft intersections.
It took three hours to travel the first three miles and I became lost no more than two times.
The Big East Fork was a gorgeous draft especially since it was slightly swollen from the night before allowing foaming white water to rush eagerly around the numerous boulders that littered the draft bed. After the first half hour of hiking I came to a very peculiar campsite. Peculiar, because of its contents. Draped over a tree stump was a Kelty tent, a tarp lay flat on a bed of leaves, and three feet away a lone Teva sandal lay on its side.
Hmm…I hope there are not any dead bodies laying around out here.
Deliverance.
I left that odd campsite, crossed a small draft that was dumping into Big East Fork from the west, and finally became lost…for the first time. The trail just disappeared in front of my boots.
So, I returned to the Deliverancesque campsite and did some looking around. Fortunately, it did not take long for me to find a group of rock cairns in the middle of Big East Fork just out from the campsite. I slipped into my sandals and waded across to the opposing bank to find the trail once again.
Shit that water was cold.
I became lost for the second time about two miles later, because, again, I failed to notice another draft crossing. I knew I had gone too far in the wrong direction when I came to a sign demarcating the southern boundary of the Shining Rock Wilderness. I sat down for a map check and ate a cereal bar. Just as I had figured out where I needed to backtrack to a gray haired weekend warrior of a day hiker with uber pimped out gear and threads rolled up on my candy ass. This warrior correctly assumed that I was somewhat lost and offered to return me to the Greasy Cove Trail junction.
When we finally reached the appropriate draft crossing approximately 400 meters back down the trail, I quickly slipped into my sandals and waded the stream. About halfway across I turned to find my new warrior friend visually considering vaulting a gap between two large rocks in the draft with his hiking poles.
Negative thoughts raced through my mind as I pictured the warrior’s old man knees and ankles, as well as various other body parts, shattering upon crash landing at the end of his short flight. I kindly intruded on his fantasy by moving a few rocks around in the draft to form a makeshift bridge of sorts so that he could cross unscathed. Once we reached the other side and were safely on dry ground he thanked me by giving me a lengthy “leave no trace” lecture which included his humble admittance that he was packing two cans of spray paint to cover any illegal trail blazes that he found.
Oregano and stone.
I was just glad that I did not have to pack his warrior self out of the woods, because he tried to impress a 21 year old kid with an Evil Knevil like stunt.
Greasy Cove Trail was long, steep, slow, and grassy, but it eventually brought me to Grassy Top, elevation unknown, from which I had my first commanding view of the surrounding terrain. It could be described as gently wind swept, but once again, I just do not have the adjectives to properly describe the view. I just cannot.
On top of the ridge I was able to travel much faster, because there were not many significant changes in elevation between Grassy Top and Could Mountain, just a few saddles. Halfway through this ridge top movement I came across Shining Rock itself. Shining Rock itself is basically a huge outcropping of quartz rock that appears out of nowhere in bumfuck Pisgah. As you know quartz is white and sparkles a lot hence the name Shining Rock (itself).
It would have been a cool feature to stop at had it not been infested with shrieking humanoid parasites known as Boyscouts.
Ah, the old glory days.
I scrambled across the Narrows, a razor sharp ridge with many large rock outcroppings that often required the assistance of all four of my appendages to overcome. A quick jaunt through Deep Gap and I was finally ascending Cold Mountain.
It did not take long to get to the top and it really was not that strenuous, just refreshing to finally be coming to the close of a 15 mile hike over eight hours. When I did reach the bench mark at 6030 feet I took a moment to stand on an outcropping and gaze south looking over the valleys and mountain below me through which I had just traveled. The wind whipped and wailed all around me chilling the sweat that saturated my shirt. Smoky gray clouds raced overhead nearly at my fingertips masking an azure sky streaked with color by the setting sun and jet black crows ca-cawed against the wind soaring from roost to roost. The green against the blue against the gray, the wilderness.
In moments like these I know that, sometimes, quitting something is the best thing you can do for yourself.
My stomach growled and my little feetsies were freezing. I pulled my socks and boots back on and hiked to the nearest superb mountaintop campsite.
At this time I would like to thank my Father Bolte for supplying me with a new MSR Sweetwater filter and MSR Whisperlite stove which both greatly contributed to my consumption of a Richmoor lasagna dinner that night.
The water boiled in well under four minutes…probably in fewer than three.
The world grew dark and cold, the wind howled, and I put my earplugs in and went to sleep. Somewhere around 0137 (exactly) a horrific thunderstorm, lightning included, woke me up.
Great.
Sunday, September 24th, 2006 - 0700
When I woke up at 0700 it was no longer raining. That was too good to be true. Matter of fact it was only 30 minutes into my return hike when it did start raining again.
Whee!
The rain itself was not that intense, but what I did fail to foresee was that the precipitation collecting on the vegetation that was constantly brushing against me would drench me far more than the raindrops that were falling on my head.
By the time I made it back to Shining Rock the water from the trail choking flora had seeped through my high technology synthetic pants and ran down my legs effectively forming two squishing lakes inside my boots.
Lake left boot, meet lake right boot. What the fuck?!
I suppose I could have stopped, dumped my boots, changed socks, and donned some rain gear, but I only had two hours left until I reached the truck. Throwing caution to the wind I squished on down the mountain towards my onward Tacoma.
Just north of Shining Rock on Old Butt Know Trail there is a campsite in a clearing on top of a mountain whose name I do not know. If you one day find yourself standing in this clearing with the cold, cold rain unmercifully pounding your feeble squirrel like body, please go 100 meters back the way you came and turn left at the first trail split that you come to. Just save yourself the trouble, because it will get damn cold in that clearing on top of that mountain.
Hard to move cold.
The descent is not bad from the top, but once you cross Old Butt Knob your life is in your own hands and if it is raining, well, I was only 85 percent sure that I was going to make it down without breaking something.
The elevation drops fast. The section of trail where it is steepest is Chestnut Ridge and there are a lot of chestnuts being lazy and laying on the ground. I think they are chestnuts. Maybe they were acorns. I brought one home anyway. Also on the descent there is not much hard packed dirt trail, just rocks and roots straight down the mountain. Fortunately, I only fell once, because the small dead tree I was grasping my right hand broke in half.
I escaped superficial damage.
After dropping about 2,000 feet in elevation you finally bottom out at Shining Rock Draft and make a left heading north for a 10 minute walk back to the parking area.
It was good to see my onward Tacoma.
Since all my clothes were waterlogged I took the opportunity to wrap my unmentionable area in my white Florida beach towel for the drive home.
Of course I put a shirt on before I got to Gate 1 at Fort Gordon.
(Sorry about the pictures).
A forward note:
I did not take a camera with me on this trip and I now sorely regret it. The Shining Rock Wilderness is an extremely beautiful area and I wish I could share the sights with all of you readers, but I know in my heart that it is impossible for me to convey to you just how extraordinary it all was. The lacking adjectives maintained in my humble vocabulary could never do nature justice. If I could take the images that I captured with my mind’s eye, print them on paper stored in my stomach, and shit them out of my ass, I would, but I cannot.
Apparently Mapquest has been giving me the run around this summer. Mapquest now shows that it is much faster to take I-26 to Pisgah instead of Route 25. Who knows how many hours I have lost off of my life taking Route 25 all summer? Thanks fuckers.
The weather in Augusta had been wonderful all week yet; somehow, somehow, it managed to be RAINING when I arrived at the forest. Certain un-named newly civilian personnel are claiming that the rain is a special gift of mine following me wherever I may roam.
Special gift my ass.
That night, when I rolled into the forest pretty much everything that could go wrong did. Of course I could not find an available roadside campsite and of course there would be a traffic delay on Route 276 while I was driving to the Big East Fork trailhead. So, somewhere around 0030 when I did make it to the trailhead parking lot I rolled up my windows, locked my doors, and drifted off into a fitful sleep until 0800.
Sleeping upright will make you have the most fucked up dreams. I promise.
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006 - 0800
When I woke up I had no clue where I was. Who sleeps in the cab of their truck anyway?
I walked around for a few minutes, yawning, until I got my bearings and then packed my backpack to the perfection that I desired it.
Where was I going anyway?
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 1:
Starting at the Big East Fork Trailhead on Route 276 follow the Big East Fork Trail south until you reach its junction with Greasy Cove Trail. Continue by hiking up Greasy Cove Trail to its junction with the Art Loeb Trail and turn north onto the Art Loeb Trail. Follow Art Loeb Trail past Shining Rock, through the Narrows, and in and out of Deep Gap until you reach Cold Mountain Trail. Continue north on Cold Mountain Trail until you crest the top at 6030 feet above sea level and look for a superb location at which to camp.
The Cold Mountain Trek Day 2:
Descend Cold Mountain to the Art Loeb Trail which you will follow south back through Deep Gap and over the Narrows. When you arrive at the Shining Rock feature turn east onto Old Butt Knob Trail and follow it until you reach the Big East Fork parking area.
Get into truck and drive off while listening to favorite tunes.
There are no blazes or trail markers in the Shining Rock Wilderness Area which can create some confusion at trail junctions, especially those which occur at draft intersections.
It took three hours to travel the first three miles and I became lost no more than two times.
The Big East Fork was a gorgeous draft especially since it was slightly swollen from the night before allowing foaming white water to rush eagerly around the numerous boulders that littered the draft bed. After the first half hour of hiking I came to a very peculiar campsite. Peculiar, because of its contents. Draped over a tree stump was a Kelty tent, a tarp lay flat on a bed of leaves, and three feet away a lone Teva sandal lay on its side.
Hmm…I hope there are not any dead bodies laying around out here.
Deliverance.
I left that odd campsite, crossed a small draft that was dumping into Big East Fork from the west, and finally became lost…for the first time. The trail just disappeared in front of my boots.
So, I returned to the Deliverancesque campsite and did some looking around. Fortunately, it did not take long for me to find a group of rock cairns in the middle of Big East Fork just out from the campsite. I slipped into my sandals and waded across to the opposing bank to find the trail once again.
Shit that water was cold.
I became lost for the second time about two miles later, because, again, I failed to notice another draft crossing. I knew I had gone too far in the wrong direction when I came to a sign demarcating the southern boundary of the Shining Rock Wilderness. I sat down for a map check and ate a cereal bar. Just as I had figured out where I needed to backtrack to a gray haired weekend warrior of a day hiker with uber pimped out gear and threads rolled up on my candy ass. This warrior correctly assumed that I was somewhat lost and offered to return me to the Greasy Cove Trail junction.
When we finally reached the appropriate draft crossing approximately 400 meters back down the trail, I quickly slipped into my sandals and waded the stream. About halfway across I turned to find my new warrior friend visually considering vaulting a gap between two large rocks in the draft with his hiking poles.
Negative thoughts raced through my mind as I pictured the warrior’s old man knees and ankles, as well as various other body parts, shattering upon crash landing at the end of his short flight. I kindly intruded on his fantasy by moving a few rocks around in the draft to form a makeshift bridge of sorts so that he could cross unscathed. Once we reached the other side and were safely on dry ground he thanked me by giving me a lengthy “leave no trace” lecture which included his humble admittance that he was packing two cans of spray paint to cover any illegal trail blazes that he found.
Oregano and stone.
I was just glad that I did not have to pack his warrior self out of the woods, because he tried to impress a 21 year old kid with an Evil Knevil like stunt.
Greasy Cove Trail was long, steep, slow, and grassy, but it eventually brought me to Grassy Top, elevation unknown, from which I had my first commanding view of the surrounding terrain. It could be described as gently wind swept, but once again, I just do not have the adjectives to properly describe the view. I just cannot.
On top of the ridge I was able to travel much faster, because there were not many significant changes in elevation between Grassy Top and Could Mountain, just a few saddles. Halfway through this ridge top movement I came across Shining Rock itself. Shining Rock itself is basically a huge outcropping of quartz rock that appears out of nowhere in bumfuck Pisgah. As you know quartz is white and sparkles a lot hence the name Shining Rock (itself).
It would have been a cool feature to stop at had it not been infested with shrieking humanoid parasites known as Boyscouts.
Ah, the old glory days.
I scrambled across the Narrows, a razor sharp ridge with many large rock outcroppings that often required the assistance of all four of my appendages to overcome. A quick jaunt through Deep Gap and I was finally ascending Cold Mountain.
It did not take long to get to the top and it really was not that strenuous, just refreshing to finally be coming to the close of a 15 mile hike over eight hours. When I did reach the bench mark at 6030 feet I took a moment to stand on an outcropping and gaze south looking over the valleys and mountain below me through which I had just traveled. The wind whipped and wailed all around me chilling the sweat that saturated my shirt. Smoky gray clouds raced overhead nearly at my fingertips masking an azure sky streaked with color by the setting sun and jet black crows ca-cawed against the wind soaring from roost to roost. The green against the blue against the gray, the wilderness.
In moments like these I know that, sometimes, quitting something is the best thing you can do for yourself.
My stomach growled and my little feetsies were freezing. I pulled my socks and boots back on and hiked to the nearest superb mountaintop campsite.
At this time I would like to thank my Father Bolte for supplying me with a new MSR Sweetwater filter and MSR Whisperlite stove which both greatly contributed to my consumption of a Richmoor lasagna dinner that night.
The water boiled in well under four minutes…probably in fewer than three.
The world grew dark and cold, the wind howled, and I put my earplugs in and went to sleep. Somewhere around 0137 (exactly) a horrific thunderstorm, lightning included, woke me up.
Great.
Sunday, September 24th, 2006 - 0700
When I woke up at 0700 it was no longer raining. That was too good to be true. Matter of fact it was only 30 minutes into my return hike when it did start raining again.
Whee!
The rain itself was not that intense, but what I did fail to foresee was that the precipitation collecting on the vegetation that was constantly brushing against me would drench me far more than the raindrops that were falling on my head.
By the time I made it back to Shining Rock the water from the trail choking flora had seeped through my high technology synthetic pants and ran down my legs effectively forming two squishing lakes inside my boots.
Lake left boot, meet lake right boot. What the fuck?!
I suppose I could have stopped, dumped my boots, changed socks, and donned some rain gear, but I only had two hours left until I reached the truck. Throwing caution to the wind I squished on down the mountain towards my onward Tacoma.
Just north of Shining Rock on Old Butt Know Trail there is a campsite in a clearing on top of a mountain whose name I do not know. If you one day find yourself standing in this clearing with the cold, cold rain unmercifully pounding your feeble squirrel like body, please go 100 meters back the way you came and turn left at the first trail split that you come to. Just save yourself the trouble, because it will get damn cold in that clearing on top of that mountain.
Hard to move cold.
The descent is not bad from the top, but once you cross Old Butt Knob your life is in your own hands and if it is raining, well, I was only 85 percent sure that I was going to make it down without breaking something.
The elevation drops fast. The section of trail where it is steepest is Chestnut Ridge and there are a lot of chestnuts being lazy and laying on the ground. I think they are chestnuts. Maybe they were acorns. I brought one home anyway. Also on the descent there is not much hard packed dirt trail, just rocks and roots straight down the mountain. Fortunately, I only fell once, because the small dead tree I was grasping my right hand broke in half.
I escaped superficial damage.
After dropping about 2,000 feet in elevation you finally bottom out at Shining Rock Draft and make a left heading north for a 10 minute walk back to the parking area.
It was good to see my onward Tacoma.
Since all my clothes were waterlogged I took the opportunity to wrap my unmentionable area in my white Florida beach towel for the drive home.
Of course I put a shirt on before I got to Gate 1 at Fort Gordon.
(Sorry about the pictures).
Nonsense: All Secure With A Nosebleed
My tour of duty at the 513th MI Brigade motorpool ended yesterday. I now know that there are 368 poles in the fence on the perimeter of the compound, 53 exterior doors into the main building, 3 small wooden crates in the back, and 1 orange cat.
2 nights of my life are gone forever. I wish that shit on no one.
I did get to ride singlespeed at FATS yesterday which kicked ass, because the trail was so dry and so fast. So fast, that I wrecked my shit when my face met tree. That sure didn't feel good and it made my nose bleed. Not too profusely though, just some drip dropping. My bike suffered a bent saddle...poor thing.
Anyway, shortly after this I'm posting my scripture on the Cold Mountain Trek, and, oh, don't forget that The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift is now on DVD!
2 nights of my life are gone forever. I wish that shit on no one.
I did get to ride singlespeed at FATS yesterday which kicked ass, because the trail was so dry and so fast. So fast, that I wrecked my shit when my face met tree. That sure didn't feel good and it made my nose bleed. Not too profusely though, just some drip dropping. My bike suffered a bent saddle...poor thing.
Anyway, shortly after this I'm posting my scripture on the Cold Mountain Trek, and, oh, don't forget that The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift is now on DVD!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Nonsense: Cheaters Is The Stupidest Show I Have Ever Seen
...and Kroger has the worst self-checkout scanner ever.
I'd like to apologize ahead of time for taking zero pictures while backpacking in Pisgah this weekend. I have already received negative feedback from readers for this promise that I did not fulfill. Let us all work together to get through this troubled and dark time. I Should have the big blog posting from the trip out no later than Wednesday.
So, I also saw Jackass Number Two last night.
HA!
Wow...it really was a whole other level. I think most people in the theater couldn't believe what they were seeing, but they were laughing anyway, as was I. You must be 18 to view.
For the next two days I will be diligently guarding my brigade's motorpool area which translates to my little legs not pedaling a bicycle until Wednesday. F that S.
What's up with those ditsy chics that drive VW bugs and wear oversized sunglasses?
I'd like to apologize ahead of time for taking zero pictures while backpacking in Pisgah this weekend. I have already received negative feedback from readers for this promise that I did not fulfill. Let us all work together to get through this troubled and dark time. I Should have the big blog posting from the trip out no later than Wednesday.
So, I also saw Jackass Number Two last night.
HA!
Wow...it really was a whole other level. I think most people in the theater couldn't believe what they were seeing, but they were laughing anyway, as was I. You must be 18 to view.
For the next two days I will be diligently guarding my brigade's motorpool area which translates to my little legs not pedaling a bicycle until Wednesday. F that S.
What's up with those ditsy chics that drive VW bugs and wear oversized sunglasses?
Friday, September 22, 2006
Nonsense: Sweden
Before signing off for the weekend I would like to inform all you readers (that don't exist) that I have finally read riderx's account of the Single Speed World Championship that went down in Sweden this summer. Click the link and read that ish. It was awesome and hilarious.
Beer, beer, beer, and riding. That dude is hardcore.
Yesterday's ride was perfect. Brown Wave to Skinny clockwise. 90 minutes.
See you on the trails.
Beer, beer, beer, and riding. That dude is hardcore.
Yesterday's ride was perfect. Brown Wave to Skinny clockwise. 90 minutes.
See you on the trails.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Nonsense: The Weekend
Yesterday was the most perfect day in the history of Augusta, Georgia. 75 degrees in the farenheit, zero clouds in the heavens above, and just the right breeze.
I took advantage of this wonderous weather by spraining my ankle while skating a kicker ramp on 7th and Greene. That hurt, but hopefully I can still ride singlespeed today.
The big plans for this weekend involve driving to Pisgah National Forest, once again, for some solo backpacking up and down the slopes of Cold Mountain in the Shining Rock Wilderness.
Cold Mountain is just over 6,000 feet above sea level so, getting that high should be pretty rad.
Silly hippie stoners.
I'll take a picture or two just for you.
P.S. don't forget that October 21st is NOT National Talk Like A Pirate Day!
I took advantage of this wonderous weather by spraining my ankle while skating a kicker ramp on 7th and Greene. That hurt, but hopefully I can still ride singlespeed today.
The big plans for this weekend involve driving to Pisgah National Forest, once again, for some solo backpacking up and down the slopes of Cold Mountain in the Shining Rock Wilderness.
Cold Mountain is just over 6,000 feet above sea level so, getting that high should be pretty rad.
Silly hippie stoners.
I'll take a picture or two just for you.
P.S. don't forget that October 21st is NOT National Talk Like A Pirate Day!
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Nonsense: It's Hunting Season
Well, not yet, but on October 11th South Carolina's small army of friendly outdoorsman will deploy to various public game lands across the state. What does this mean? Well, for the hippie mountainbiker it means no riding on the FATS from October 11th to October 24th or, yes, you will be shot.
Hippie.
Speaking of the FATS I did ride there yesterday. The weather down here in the south has been outstanding of late with temperatures below 80 degrees and an even more enjoyable humidity level. I rode Great Wall and Skinny in a counter clockwise fashion in approximately one hour on my singlespeed.
Watch out for those singlespeeds, they will fuck you up. My quads were burning, but it was awesome to be riding again.
Later in the evening I proceeded, with friends, to The Mission for some live music performed by The Mighty Sideshow, 18 Visions, and Evans Blue. While watching The Mighty Sideshow I involuntarily vomitted, a reflex that stems from my recent contraction of Horrid Ass Music Stress Syndrome (HAMSS). Other symptoms include; dizziness, headache, numbness or tingling, and failed attempts at running for the presidency.
Basically, the band wasn't that spectacular.
18 Visions rocked the muthafuckin house. Hailing from Orange County, California this heavy metal and heavily tattooed five piece put on a high energy head banger that had the whole crowd screaming. It was so good I bought a sick ass T-shirt from their merch stand.
Rock out.
And then there was Evans Blue, some Canadian band that has a song on the radio. The end.
Unfortunately, we stopped at IHOP on the drive home which further delayed our getting to the fort and getting some sleep. Getting home at 0200 and waking up at 0430 for PT is so not cool.
Nap time.
Hippie.
Speaking of the FATS I did ride there yesterday. The weather down here in the south has been outstanding of late with temperatures below 80 degrees and an even more enjoyable humidity level. I rode Great Wall and Skinny in a counter clockwise fashion in approximately one hour on my singlespeed.
Watch out for those singlespeeds, they will fuck you up. My quads were burning, but it was awesome to be riding again.
Later in the evening I proceeded, with friends, to The Mission for some live music performed by The Mighty Sideshow, 18 Visions, and Evans Blue. While watching The Mighty Sideshow I involuntarily vomitted, a reflex that stems from my recent contraction of Horrid Ass Music Stress Syndrome (HAMSS). Other symptoms include; dizziness, headache, numbness or tingling, and failed attempts at running for the presidency.
Basically, the band wasn't that spectacular.
18 Visions rocked the muthafuckin house. Hailing from Orange County, California this heavy metal and heavily tattooed five piece put on a high energy head banger that had the whole crowd screaming. It was so good I bought a sick ass T-shirt from their merch stand.
Rock out.
And then there was Evans Blue, some Canadian band that has a song on the radio. The end.
Unfortunately, we stopped at IHOP on the drive home which further delayed our getting to the fort and getting some sleep. Getting home at 0200 and waking up at 0430 for PT is so not cool.
Nap time.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Nonsense: Life
Yes, it is true.
I voluntarily withdrew from SFAS after the first week of training. I made the decision to withdraw knowing that I was not prepared to dedicate a significant portion of my near future, if not most of my life, to the Special Forces cause. I made my decision and I am moving on with different aspects of my life.
I am happy.
On Sunday the 17th I rode one lap on Range Road. Enjoyable. This afternoon I'll be back to single speeding on the FATS, my main squeeze, and then it's time for a rock show.
Evans Blue at The Mission. Doors at 8 pm.
Be there. Be square.
I voluntarily withdrew from SFAS after the first week of training. I made the decision to withdraw knowing that I was not prepared to dedicate a significant portion of my near future, if not most of my life, to the Special Forces cause. I made my decision and I am moving on with different aspects of my life.
I am happy.
On Sunday the 17th I rode one lap on Range Road. Enjoyable. This afternoon I'll be back to single speeding on the FATS, my main squeeze, and then it's time for a rock show.
Evans Blue at The Mission. Doors at 8 pm.
Be there. Be square.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Rides: The Final Ride
Today I rode one lap around Range Road. This will be my final ride before I disappear for the month of September while I'm training in North Carolina. The ride took an hour and 10 minutes and my legs felt really good after a few days of recovery, or more than a few for that matter. I almost got caught in a lovely afternoon thunderstorm, but fortunately nature remembered its place with me.
I'll be back on September 29th.
I'll be back on September 29th.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Nonsense: Keeping You Informed
To all my faithful readers,
It is with regret that I inform you that my sister blog has been deleted. It was just something I felt I had to do. No more tired reflections regarding my training regimine.
Also, please note that young Master Charles will be unavailable from the 4th of September to the 29th of September. Any phone calls or emails directed at the young Master will not be returned until after the 29th.
Finally, please see the film "Little Miss Sunshine". It is in theaters now and is extremely hilarious.
That is all at this time. Thank you.
Very respectfully,
Young Master Charles
It is with regret that I inform you that my sister blog has been deleted. It was just something I felt I had to do. No more tired reflections regarding my training regimine.
Also, please note that young Master Charles will be unavailable from the 4th of September to the 29th of September. Any phone calls or emails directed at the young Master will not be returned until after the 29th.
Finally, please see the film "Little Miss Sunshine". It is in theaters now and is extremely hilarious.
That is all at this time. Thank you.
Very respectfully,
Young Master Charles
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Nonsense: Did I Fall Asleep?
So, after a wonderful meeting at my wonderful barracks I went down to the Warehouse for the Tuesday night ride. Zach is a pussy so he didn't come along.
We rode the usual Silver Bluff route and the A group had about eight people. It was our biggest in a long time. I guess we rode around 25 mph to the halfway point. There I left with Bobby while everyone else waited for the entire group to catch up. It's been getting dark a lot earlier and Bobby wanted to get back before it got dark. We didn't ride real hard on the way back. We stuck to 23 and 24 mph.
I could definitely tell that I don't have a lot of "strong" endurance in my legs. It seems like I can spin and keep up with people, but I can't light off on my own or drop people anymore. Whatever.
We rode the usual Silver Bluff route and the A group had about eight people. It was our biggest in a long time. I guess we rode around 25 mph to the halfway point. There I left with Bobby while everyone else waited for the entire group to catch up. It's been getting dark a lot earlier and Bobby wanted to get back before it got dark. We didn't ride real hard on the way back. We stuck to 23 and 24 mph.
I could definitely tell that I don't have a lot of "strong" endurance in my legs. It seems like I can spin and keep up with people, but I can't light off on my own or drop people anymore. Whatever.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Rides: Tri Geeks
The sky was gray and rain drops peppered the windshield as Zach and I drove downtown to the Warehouse. The scattered rain let up before we left the shop to ride so we were able to enjoy the shade from the overcast sky without the rain. We stuck to the Silver Bluff route and I rode with my Tri geek buddy named Paul.
Paul has an Ironman Triathlon in three weeks in Canada so he wanted to take it easy today. We stuck to riding at about 24 mph all the way to the halfway point and then he decided he was going to ride even slower so I rode with a long haired dude on a Giant that had a pretty thick southern draw. It wasn't quite as good as riding with Nate or Matt or Bobby, but I was tired as hell anyway. I need some sleep.
I'll be missing the long road ride planned for Saturday, because I have a 24 hour duty...again.
Paul has an Ironman Triathlon in three weeks in Canada so he wanted to take it easy today. We stuck to riding at about 24 mph all the way to the halfway point and then he decided he was going to ride even slower so I rode with a long haired dude on a Giant that had a pretty thick southern draw. It wasn't quite as good as riding with Nate or Matt or Bobby, but I was tired as hell anyway. I need some sleep.
I'll be missing the long road ride planned for Saturday, because I have a 24 hour duty...again.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Rides: Keeping It Short
That's the way my ride went today. Short.
Zach bailed on me and decided not to ride FATS. Alone and unafraid I gave Deep Step Trail a second try. A slow second try. My 6 hours of interrupted sleep a day are starting to catch up with me as well as my SFAS training. I'm starting to feel exhausted all the time. Hopefully I can regroup and bounce back asap. We'll see what happens tomorrow at the Warehouse ride.
Bring it, don't sing it.
Zach bailed on me and decided not to ride FATS. Alone and unafraid I gave Deep Step Trail a second try. A slow second try. My 6 hours of interrupted sleep a day are starting to catch up with me as well as my SFAS training. I'm starting to feel exhausted all the time. Hopefully I can regroup and bounce back asap. We'll see what happens tomorrow at the Warehouse ride.
Bring it, don't sing it.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Nonsense: GI Party
Due to bullshitty unforeseen circumstances Zach and I were unable to make it to the AJBW shop ride, which sucked, but we did get in a lap on Range Road. Due to our "circumstance" we couldn't roll out until about 1940. I was worried that it would get dark on us while we were out riding and guess what...it did! At least we didn't have to ride in the pitch blackness any longer than 10 minutes, thanks Uncle Sam!
20 miles...somewhere around one hour...peace outside...
Hopefully nothing happens that keeps us off the FATS tomorrow...
My head hurts...
20 miles...somewhere around one hour...peace outside...
Hopefully nothing happens that keeps us off the FATS tomorrow...
My head hurts...
Monday, August 07, 2006
Nonsense: No Ride
Today is a day of rest. I won't be on the bike again until Tuesday at the Warehouse road ride.
1800.
Be there or be square.
1800.
Be there or be square.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Journeys: Sugar Mountain, N.C. (June 9th, 10th, and 11th)
Friday June 9th, 2006 - 1300
I scored a four day pass from Uncle Sam for doing swell on my Army Physical Fitness Test and decided to spend said pass on NORBA NMBS #2 which was being held at Sugar Mountain Ski Resort in Banner Elk, N.C. I would be joining my usual group of riding friends which includes Steve, Karen, and Big Joe.
Here begins a five hour drive to Banner Elk.
Shortly into South Carolina, Steve called to inform me that his bike was fucked up, he didn’t know if he could fix it, and he wasn’t sure if he would get to ride at all. (I honestly can’t remember what was actually wrong with his Blur.) That’s never cool. This news actually added to a predetermined laundry list of possible negatives for the weekend which included; Sugar Mountain was a shitty venue, there was no Hayes vendor at the event, and no one seemed to be quite sure what kind of riding was in the area for us grass roots non-racers.
Hmmmmm…
Somewhere on I-85 south while driving and looking at my atlas I failed to notice that traffic was slowing down well below the posted 70 mph and had the opportunity to lock up my brakes as I skidded to a stop a few feet too close to the vehicle in front of me.
I should put that map down now.
A few hours after my close call I was traveling on State Route 321 North which had digressed from a 4 lane to a 2 lane and began a steady climb into some very lovely blue mountains. As usual it was quite a delight to be out of Augusta and somewhere more scenic than the ghetto. If you’re not careful Augusta will warp your mind.
So, anyway, after following an 18-wheeler at 35 mph for about an hour I finally rolled into Boone, N.C.
Boone was a small college town that hustled and bustled with the likes of Wal-Mart, Lowes, and numerous hotels and restaurants. Here I stopped at a Food Lion and acquired milk, bread, lunch meat, and cheese for Karen and for myself, a six pack of Smirnoff. Due to circumstances I have no desire to expound upon, I’m only capable of consuming “wuss beer”.
If you can even call it beer… (You can’t. It’s actually a “malt beverage”.)
From Boone State Route 105 twisted its way southish to my destination, Grandfather Campground, taking me past many tourist gift shops and trendy mountain restaurants. It was not unlike a scene from the mountains of West Virginia.
The city dwellers will be trapped like flies. Those hand woven baskets are just too trendy
Upon my arrival at the camp site, which I initially drove past, I found Steve and Big Joe working on Big Joe’s Giant as Karen slowly spun her way around the campground on her Blur. Indiana Joe’s bottom bracket had seized up while he was riding earlier that day and the prognosis was that he was done riding for the weekend. Basically, he was as equally fucked as Steve. (I still can’t remember what the hell was wrong with Steve’s bike.)
That has to suck. You drive all the way from Ohio for your bike to shit its pants. I felt bad for both fellas, but what can you do? I guess you could always bring more bikes.
I set up my base camp and settled in for dinner. I disappointed the crowd by not eating nearly as much as they expected. I usually entertain a voracious appetite due to my constant swimming and cycling. Anyway, four malt beverages and a short walk later I found myself standing by a Christian youth retreat campfire, “beer” in hand, listening to ghost stories.
That didn’t last long.
Good night.
Saturday June 10th, 2006 – 0600
It started to rain at 0600. I got out of my tent briefly to help Steve cover some shit up with a tarp and then crashed again. At 0900 it started raining again.
Really big drops.
Really, really big drop…or was that…what the fuck…
Steve will throw rocks at your tent to wake you up. Asshole.
We conducted our usual breakfast routine before loading up our bikes and heading over to Sugar Mountain. We rode in two vehicles, my truck and Steve’s station wagon. Karen and I were going to take my Tacoma to the Wilson Creek Area to do some riding while Steve bummed around the vendor area getting different people to work on his bike.
Wilson Creek Area
Here I would usually write something clever about the route and I’m about to ride and all the associated trails. Problem is, I don’t know anything about Wilson Creek. In fact, no one in my group did. We just had a sketchy hand drawn map that was supposed to get us to the Wilson Creek trailhead. This free hand masterpiece was created by the Defeet socks salesman and didn’t really make sense, but I had faith that Karen could get us there.
Naturally, Karen and I got completely lost on the way to Wilson Creek. We wound up on the fringes of Morganton, N.C. and pulled into an old gas station, because I was getting low on fuel and we were, well, lost. Karen found a coverall wearing, thick bearded local that understood English and confidently asked for directions to Wilson Creek.
I pre-paid for 10 bucks of gas and we were outta there.
The old man’s directions were right on and once we hit Wilson Creek the second part of the Defeet map somehow started matching up with our location in reality. Wilson Creek was surprisingly beautiful and rugged even though it was also redneck resort land. It started as an RV campground complete youngsters speeding around on ATVs, then, transformed into a rugged gorge with massive slabs of exposed rock dotted with coniferous trees.
I felt like I was out west in Colorado or something.
It was a long drive to the parking area shown on the Defeet map, so, I had plenty of time to enjoy the scenery. According to Karen, which was according to the Defeet guy, when we parked we would have to ride up an unspecified gravel road for a short period of time before making a right onto the trail.
Things didn’t quite go like that.
After parking the truck and changing clothes, we ascended on the unspecified gravel road for three miles. We came to an intersection with another gravel road that had a brown gate. The name of this road was Chestnut Ridge, I think. There was a truck parked in a wide spot on the side of the road with a bike racked in the bed. Promising. Karen deduced we make a right onto Chestnut Ridge. I concurred. We continued to ascend for another three miles.
None of this was on the Defeet map.
The double track that we had been riding on for the last three miles suddenly leveled off and disappeared into the woods as single track. Finally. This stand of single track was pretty sweet, but I don’t know what its name was, I suppose Chestnut Ridge Trail could be the title, but I prefer to call it, “Ah, fuck no”. This is based off of an event that unfolded during the ride.
The trail was great, winding its way through the woods at a steady descent. It wasn’t insanely technical, but just tech enough to keep you on your toes. The best feature on the trial was undoubtedly the bank turns. There were some sick, sick chutes to ride in and you could carve high and fast on the chute’s wall.
And how the trail gets its name…
Karen and I were about half way into the single track and I was riding just out of sight in front of Karen when I heard a huge rock tumbling down the mountainside through the brush somewhere behind me. The small boulder came to a stop. Then, Karen started shouting my name. It actually wasn’t a boulder tumbling down the mountain. It was a human. A human named Karen.
As I sprinted back up the trail the words “Ah, fuck no” flashed brilliantly in my mind. I had ridden with Karen when she fractured her ankle at Holly River State Park and I feared a repeat. I pictured myself carrying Karen out of the woods on my back.
Karen was out of sight. I could see her bike about five meters down the hill, but her body was a good 30 meters down, lost in the thick jungle of rhododendron. She started shouting that she was ok and all in one piece.
“Thank God” I thought. If he’s out there that is.
I retrieved Karen’s Blur and then assisted her in climbing back up to the trail. Dirt and scrapes marred Karen’s limbs, but she emerged with a huge grin stretched across her grill.
What a rad lady.
We looked the Blur over to find that it was unscathed, fortunately, and continued the ride. The trail continued to be a kick ass stand of single track all the way to the terminus at some unknown gravel road. We stopped here at what appeared to be a popular spot by the draft for sun bathers and cooled our heels. It was about a three mile ride on the gravel road back to the Tacoma. When we rolled into the parking area, I decided that I wasn’t finished riding and asked Karen if she wanted to ride the loop again. She declined, but offered to shuttle me to the Chestnut Ridge Road turn off and then meet me at the bottom of the trail. I took her up on her offer and we executed the mission. I threw the Trance into the big ring on Chestnut Ridge and hammered as hard as I could up the climb, then ripped the descent for the second time.
Wicked dude.
Karen was at the draft allowing her legs a break in the water. I followed suit and also drank a bottle of Accelerade.
We took an overly scenic route back to Grandfather Campground on gravel roads. It took well over and hour and the drive wore me out more than the ride did. So, we returned to camp to find that Steve had somehow fixed his bike (I still don’t know what was wrong with it) and wanted to ride. We told him the length of the single track was not worth the length of the drive.
We had the opportunity to spend our evening with the likes of Steve Thaxton, Nick Waite, and the Clothiers. A true West Virginia crew. It was fun to be around some old riding acquaintances from the WVMBA racing days and the mood was up, because Nick had placed fifth in pro cross country earlier in the day.
Way to go Nick!
Sunday June 11th, 2006 - 0800
We the people of the campsite arose at some point during the hour of 0900. Ok, seriously, I was the last one out my tent. Piss off. We all set about tearing down and packing up so that we could make for Sugar Mountain to watch the downhill competition.
I pissed Indiana Joe off by firing up my Tacoma while it was still parked in the campsite, stating that he didn’t want to “suck fumes”. I guess I don’t blame him, but I was trying to hurry Steve up who was taking his sweet ass time getting out of Grandfather. Medium Joe barked about my pollution and, finally, Steve backed his Taurus out and we were off.
Sorry Big Joe.
Upon our arrival at the venue we milled around the vendor area scavenging for free shit before heading up the mountain to watch pro downhill qualifying.
Stickers galore.
I scored a blue Velcro VW wallet, Steve amassed a small mountain of Sport Leg pills, and Karen made like a bear and raided the Bear Naked granola tent. Karen spent too much time at the Bear Naked tent so Steve decided we would ditch her ass and start our hike up the downhill course.
Asshole.
The sun was out and damn was it blazing hot. Most ski slopes happen to be treeless and my white boy complexion soon started sizzling. I was stoked to transform into lobster boy and start kicking villain ass.
Steve had been on the downhill course the day prior and knew of a “really sweet spot” from which we could spectate. Steve said the spot was a small creek crossing with a stone wall built on the higher bank so that riders could launch over the creek. I asked Steve if the stone wall had a lip or if it was just a drop. He said it had a lip.
Liar.
The spot was bogus. The creek was about a foot wide and the wall was about 4 feet tall with no lip. Drag. We watched about 5 riders hit the drop and then we bailed to find another location to watch from.
At this point we were about 1/3 of the way up the ski slope. Steve, Karen, and Big Joe decided to sneak onto the lift at a convenient low point, but I decided to continue the hike up the mountain, purely for the exercise. Most of the downhill course was unquestionably LAME. Its better parts were found at the top where rock gardens protruded menacingly from the earth. I picked my way to the top of the lift just as the three musketeers were getting off of it.
We ended up settling in at a short rock garden that was located about 100 meters downhill from the starting line. It was a short section with “large” rocks that was easily ride able at a slow speed on an XC bike, but it was way cooler to watch the down hillers huck their rigs across the slabs of rock at a fast speed.
One young semi-pro rider took a line to the left attempting to launch over the whole garden. Unfortunately the line simply threw him off of the trail and into the woods. His armored body sailed through the air like a rag doll. He landed hard and after collecting himself, grunted, picked up his ride, and sped off while we all rooted him on. Watching the semi-pro qualifying was fun, but only for so long.
That is until a smoked up videographer rolled up on us.
His partner in grime had already been at the spot as long as we had, balancing above the rock garden on a tree limb, filming riders with a Canon XL1. The new camerman seemed to be insanely stoned and was insanely loud with a vocabulary that was heavy on dude, awesome, and fuck the labor union.
Steve and I joked about asking the “dude” if he had a fat sack of weed to roll some blunts with. We only joked.
Semi-pro qualifying ceased and we decided to leave the event exiting via the ski lift.
Have you ever ridden a ski lift DOWN the slope? Sugar Mountain was my first opportunity and let me tell you…it was wicked fun! First of all it constantly feels like you’re going to fall forward out of the chair. Then if the lift stops, which it did multiple times, it feels like your being thrown off the mountain. You’re not rocking comfortably back into the chair, but you’re rocking forward out of the chair.
Neat.
Anyway, we touched down at the bottom of the mountain and proceeded to our vehicles. I said my goodbyes to Steve and Karen, hopped in my truck, and pointed compass south to Augusta.
A brief moment of negativity...
Sugar Mountain was possibly the worst venue to hold a NORBA event at vice the hill in my backyard. The downhill and XC courses were exceptionally lame and the dual slalom course…I’m not sure I can conjure up the proper words to bash its existence. Worst of all there were no Hayes Disc Brakes vendors present to fix my So1e brakes.
Fuck ‘em.
Steve and Karen agree that the event should be returned to Snowshoe.
Get Riding!
I scored a four day pass from Uncle Sam for doing swell on my Army Physical Fitness Test and decided to spend said pass on NORBA NMBS #2 which was being held at Sugar Mountain Ski Resort in Banner Elk, N.C. I would be joining my usual group of riding friends which includes Steve, Karen, and Big Joe.
Here begins a five hour drive to Banner Elk.
Shortly into South Carolina, Steve called to inform me that his bike was fucked up, he didn’t know if he could fix it, and he wasn’t sure if he would get to ride at all. (I honestly can’t remember what was actually wrong with his Blur.) That’s never cool. This news actually added to a predetermined laundry list of possible negatives for the weekend which included; Sugar Mountain was a shitty venue, there was no Hayes vendor at the event, and no one seemed to be quite sure what kind of riding was in the area for us grass roots non-racers.
Hmmmmm…
Somewhere on I-85 south while driving and looking at my atlas I failed to notice that traffic was slowing down well below the posted 70 mph and had the opportunity to lock up my brakes as I skidded to a stop a few feet too close to the vehicle in front of me.
I should put that map down now.
A few hours after my close call I was traveling on State Route 321 North which had digressed from a 4 lane to a 2 lane and began a steady climb into some very lovely blue mountains. As usual it was quite a delight to be out of Augusta and somewhere more scenic than the ghetto. If you’re not careful Augusta will warp your mind.
So, anyway, after following an 18-wheeler at 35 mph for about an hour I finally rolled into Boone, N.C.
Boone was a small college town that hustled and bustled with the likes of Wal-Mart, Lowes, and numerous hotels and restaurants. Here I stopped at a Food Lion and acquired milk, bread, lunch meat, and cheese for Karen and for myself, a six pack of Smirnoff. Due to circumstances I have no desire to expound upon, I’m only capable of consuming “wuss beer”.
If you can even call it beer… (You can’t. It’s actually a “malt beverage”.)
From Boone State Route 105 twisted its way southish to my destination, Grandfather Campground, taking me past many tourist gift shops and trendy mountain restaurants. It was not unlike a scene from the mountains of West Virginia.
The city dwellers will be trapped like flies. Those hand woven baskets are just too trendy
Upon my arrival at the camp site, which I initially drove past, I found Steve and Big Joe working on Big Joe’s Giant as Karen slowly spun her way around the campground on her Blur. Indiana Joe’s bottom bracket had seized up while he was riding earlier that day and the prognosis was that he was done riding for the weekend. Basically, he was as equally fucked as Steve. (I still can’t remember what the hell was wrong with Steve’s bike.)
That has to suck. You drive all the way from Ohio for your bike to shit its pants. I felt bad for both fellas, but what can you do? I guess you could always bring more bikes.
I set up my base camp and settled in for dinner. I disappointed the crowd by not eating nearly as much as they expected. I usually entertain a voracious appetite due to my constant swimming and cycling. Anyway, four malt beverages and a short walk later I found myself standing by a Christian youth retreat campfire, “beer” in hand, listening to ghost stories.
That didn’t last long.
Good night.
Saturday June 10th, 2006 – 0600
It started to rain at 0600. I got out of my tent briefly to help Steve cover some shit up with a tarp and then crashed again. At 0900 it started raining again.
Really big drops.
Really, really big drop…or was that…what the fuck…
Steve will throw rocks at your tent to wake you up. Asshole.
We conducted our usual breakfast routine before loading up our bikes and heading over to Sugar Mountain. We rode in two vehicles, my truck and Steve’s station wagon. Karen and I were going to take my Tacoma to the Wilson Creek Area to do some riding while Steve bummed around the vendor area getting different people to work on his bike.
Wilson Creek Area
Here I would usually write something clever about the route and I’m about to ride and all the associated trails. Problem is, I don’t know anything about Wilson Creek. In fact, no one in my group did. We just had a sketchy hand drawn map that was supposed to get us to the Wilson Creek trailhead. This free hand masterpiece was created by the Defeet socks salesman and didn’t really make sense, but I had faith that Karen could get us there.
Naturally, Karen and I got completely lost on the way to Wilson Creek. We wound up on the fringes of Morganton, N.C. and pulled into an old gas station, because I was getting low on fuel and we were, well, lost. Karen found a coverall wearing, thick bearded local that understood English and confidently asked for directions to Wilson Creek.
I pre-paid for 10 bucks of gas and we were outta there.
The old man’s directions were right on and once we hit Wilson Creek the second part of the Defeet map somehow started matching up with our location in reality. Wilson Creek was surprisingly beautiful and rugged even though it was also redneck resort land. It started as an RV campground complete youngsters speeding around on ATVs, then, transformed into a rugged gorge with massive slabs of exposed rock dotted with coniferous trees.
I felt like I was out west in Colorado or something.
It was a long drive to the parking area shown on the Defeet map, so, I had plenty of time to enjoy the scenery. According to Karen, which was according to the Defeet guy, when we parked we would have to ride up an unspecified gravel road for a short period of time before making a right onto the trail.
Things didn’t quite go like that.
After parking the truck and changing clothes, we ascended on the unspecified gravel road for three miles. We came to an intersection with another gravel road that had a brown gate. The name of this road was Chestnut Ridge, I think. There was a truck parked in a wide spot on the side of the road with a bike racked in the bed. Promising. Karen deduced we make a right onto Chestnut Ridge. I concurred. We continued to ascend for another three miles.
None of this was on the Defeet map.
The double track that we had been riding on for the last three miles suddenly leveled off and disappeared into the woods as single track. Finally. This stand of single track was pretty sweet, but I don’t know what its name was, I suppose Chestnut Ridge Trail could be the title, but I prefer to call it, “Ah, fuck no”. This is based off of an event that unfolded during the ride.
The trail was great, winding its way through the woods at a steady descent. It wasn’t insanely technical, but just tech enough to keep you on your toes. The best feature on the trial was undoubtedly the bank turns. There were some sick, sick chutes to ride in and you could carve high and fast on the chute’s wall.
And how the trail gets its name…
Karen and I were about half way into the single track and I was riding just out of sight in front of Karen when I heard a huge rock tumbling down the mountainside through the brush somewhere behind me. The small boulder came to a stop. Then, Karen started shouting my name. It actually wasn’t a boulder tumbling down the mountain. It was a human. A human named Karen.
As I sprinted back up the trail the words “Ah, fuck no” flashed brilliantly in my mind. I had ridden with Karen when she fractured her ankle at Holly River State Park and I feared a repeat. I pictured myself carrying Karen out of the woods on my back.
Karen was out of sight. I could see her bike about five meters down the hill, but her body was a good 30 meters down, lost in the thick jungle of rhododendron. She started shouting that she was ok and all in one piece.
“Thank God” I thought. If he’s out there that is.
I retrieved Karen’s Blur and then assisted her in climbing back up to the trail. Dirt and scrapes marred Karen’s limbs, but she emerged with a huge grin stretched across her grill.
What a rad lady.
We looked the Blur over to find that it was unscathed, fortunately, and continued the ride. The trail continued to be a kick ass stand of single track all the way to the terminus at some unknown gravel road. We stopped here at what appeared to be a popular spot by the draft for sun bathers and cooled our heels. It was about a three mile ride on the gravel road back to the Tacoma. When we rolled into the parking area, I decided that I wasn’t finished riding and asked Karen if she wanted to ride the loop again. She declined, but offered to shuttle me to the Chestnut Ridge Road turn off and then meet me at the bottom of the trail. I took her up on her offer and we executed the mission. I threw the Trance into the big ring on Chestnut Ridge and hammered as hard as I could up the climb, then ripped the descent for the second time.
Wicked dude.
Karen was at the draft allowing her legs a break in the water. I followed suit and also drank a bottle of Accelerade.
We took an overly scenic route back to Grandfather Campground on gravel roads. It took well over and hour and the drive wore me out more than the ride did. So, we returned to camp to find that Steve had somehow fixed his bike (I still don’t know what was wrong with it) and wanted to ride. We told him the length of the single track was not worth the length of the drive.
We had the opportunity to spend our evening with the likes of Steve Thaxton, Nick Waite, and the Clothiers. A true West Virginia crew. It was fun to be around some old riding acquaintances from the WVMBA racing days and the mood was up, because Nick had placed fifth in pro cross country earlier in the day.
Way to go Nick!
Sunday June 11th, 2006 - 0800
We the people of the campsite arose at some point during the hour of 0900. Ok, seriously, I was the last one out my tent. Piss off. We all set about tearing down and packing up so that we could make for Sugar Mountain to watch the downhill competition.
I pissed Indiana Joe off by firing up my Tacoma while it was still parked in the campsite, stating that he didn’t want to “suck fumes”. I guess I don’t blame him, but I was trying to hurry Steve up who was taking his sweet ass time getting out of Grandfather. Medium Joe barked about my pollution and, finally, Steve backed his Taurus out and we were off.
Sorry Big Joe.
Upon our arrival at the venue we milled around the vendor area scavenging for free shit before heading up the mountain to watch pro downhill qualifying.
Stickers galore.
I scored a blue Velcro VW wallet, Steve amassed a small mountain of Sport Leg pills, and Karen made like a bear and raided the Bear Naked granola tent. Karen spent too much time at the Bear Naked tent so Steve decided we would ditch her ass and start our hike up the downhill course.
Asshole.
The sun was out and damn was it blazing hot. Most ski slopes happen to be treeless and my white boy complexion soon started sizzling. I was stoked to transform into lobster boy and start kicking villain ass.
Steve had been on the downhill course the day prior and knew of a “really sweet spot” from which we could spectate. Steve said the spot was a small creek crossing with a stone wall built on the higher bank so that riders could launch over the creek. I asked Steve if the stone wall had a lip or if it was just a drop. He said it had a lip.
Liar.
The spot was bogus. The creek was about a foot wide and the wall was about 4 feet tall with no lip. Drag. We watched about 5 riders hit the drop and then we bailed to find another location to watch from.
At this point we were about 1/3 of the way up the ski slope. Steve, Karen, and Big Joe decided to sneak onto the lift at a convenient low point, but I decided to continue the hike up the mountain, purely for the exercise. Most of the downhill course was unquestionably LAME. Its better parts were found at the top where rock gardens protruded menacingly from the earth. I picked my way to the top of the lift just as the three musketeers were getting off of it.
We ended up settling in at a short rock garden that was located about 100 meters downhill from the starting line. It was a short section with “large” rocks that was easily ride able at a slow speed on an XC bike, but it was way cooler to watch the down hillers huck their rigs across the slabs of rock at a fast speed.
One young semi-pro rider took a line to the left attempting to launch over the whole garden. Unfortunately the line simply threw him off of the trail and into the woods. His armored body sailed through the air like a rag doll. He landed hard and after collecting himself, grunted, picked up his ride, and sped off while we all rooted him on. Watching the semi-pro qualifying was fun, but only for so long.
That is until a smoked up videographer rolled up on us.
His partner in grime had already been at the spot as long as we had, balancing above the rock garden on a tree limb, filming riders with a Canon XL1. The new camerman seemed to be insanely stoned and was insanely loud with a vocabulary that was heavy on dude, awesome, and fuck the labor union.
Steve and I joked about asking the “dude” if he had a fat sack of weed to roll some blunts with. We only joked.
Semi-pro qualifying ceased and we decided to leave the event exiting via the ski lift.
Have you ever ridden a ski lift DOWN the slope? Sugar Mountain was my first opportunity and let me tell you…it was wicked fun! First of all it constantly feels like you’re going to fall forward out of the chair. Then if the lift stops, which it did multiple times, it feels like your being thrown off the mountain. You’re not rocking comfortably back into the chair, but you’re rocking forward out of the chair.
Neat.
Anyway, we touched down at the bottom of the mountain and proceeded to our vehicles. I said my goodbyes to Steve and Karen, hopped in my truck, and pointed compass south to Augusta.
A brief moment of negativity...
Sugar Mountain was possibly the worst venue to hold a NORBA event at vice the hill in my backyard. The downhill and XC courses were exceptionally lame and the dual slalom course…I’m not sure I can conjure up the proper words to bash its existence. Worst of all there were no Hayes Disc Brakes vendors present to fix my So1e brakes.
Fuck ‘em.
Steve and Karen agree that the event should be returned to Snowshoe.
Get Riding!
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Rides: It Takes Two On Range Road
Two laps that is...
After being off the bike on Friday it felt GREAT to climb on an aluminum pony again. My plan was to ride out Range Road and when I reached the end I would turn around and ride back to my barracks. Zachary was feeling too annihilated from the previous night's training so I would be riding alone.
Today, nature damn well did not know its place.
I was about nine miles into the ride when it started raining. Thunder had been rumbling across the sky like an upset stomach for the entire ride, but lightning struck, thunder cracked the sky wide open, and the rain poured. It was refreshing at first, but then on my first downhill at 35 mph I noticed that rain really does hurt. It felt like hundreds of bees were sting my arms and legs.
The thunderstorm was extremely isolated. It only lasted for approximately three miles. Of course my bike computer didn't last. It was stuck on 12.96 miles for my trip distance.
Who needs the computer anyway? Just ride as hard as you can!
I ended up doing Range Road twice. Once with the rain and once without the rain. It felt good to pump up some steep climbs again. South Carolina is so flat. My legs felt strong all the way through.
Fortunately I have Sunday and Monday off the bike, so, things should be ripping for sure come Tuesday at the Warehouse ride.
Can't wait!
After being off the bike on Friday it felt GREAT to climb on an aluminum pony again. My plan was to ride out Range Road and when I reached the end I would turn around and ride back to my barracks. Zachary was feeling too annihilated from the previous night's training so I would be riding alone.
Today, nature damn well did not know its place.
I was about nine miles into the ride when it started raining. Thunder had been rumbling across the sky like an upset stomach for the entire ride, but lightning struck, thunder cracked the sky wide open, and the rain poured. It was refreshing at first, but then on my first downhill at 35 mph I noticed that rain really does hurt. It felt like hundreds of bees were sting my arms and legs.
The thunderstorm was extremely isolated. It only lasted for approximately three miles. Of course my bike computer didn't last. It was stuck on 12.96 miles for my trip distance.
Who needs the computer anyway? Just ride as hard as you can!
I ended up doing Range Road twice. Once with the rain and once without the rain. It felt good to pump up some steep climbs again. South Carolina is so flat. My legs felt strong all the way through.
Fortunately I have Sunday and Monday off the bike, so, things should be ripping for sure come Tuesday at the Warehouse ride.
Can't wait!
Friday, August 04, 2006
Nonsense: A Break
That's right. No riding today!
If you want to see what my lazy ass did instead of ride today, then check things out at my other bitching blog!
I'll see you on Saturday, in which, I have planned, 40 miles of road riding on the Orbea.
P.S.
Orbea is the bomb! Sugar Mountain will be posted on Sunday morning. Back off!
If you want to see what my lazy ass did instead of ride today, then check things out at my other bitching blog!
I'll see you on Saturday, in which, I have planned, 40 miles of road riding on the Orbea.
P.S.
Orbea is the bomb! Sugar Mountain will be posted on Sunday morning. Back off!
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Rides: AJBW Group Road Ride
Rain threatened before the ride started, but never came. Nature damn well knows its place.
Zach was with me on the Turquoise Falcon and we took off with the group at 1830. I could feel that my legs were very fatigued and I wasn't too sure how the ride was going to turn out. I just hoped that I didn't cramp again.
We didn't ride the usual Silver Bluff route, but rode across the 13th Street bridge into South Carolina, out Storm Branch to Pine Grove, and then made some other turns onto roads that I'm unfamiliar with until we returned to the Warehouse.
I hung with Matt and Nate for most of the ride pulling around 25 mph and above. I felt my calves tightening at about mile 12 and worried that I was in for more pain, but somehow I stayed loose and rode hard all the way back to the shop.
I got in a good 35 mph pull across the bridge which is always a smoking fast piece of road, but sorta dropped off the paceline. It took a second to catch up and when I did I recovered for about a minute and then did one last pull on the flat of Sand Bar Ferry Road at 28.5 mph. Of course Nate and Todd sprinted past me to the stop light. Nate was on a cyclocross bike with knobbies.
How does he do it.
Zach was with me on the Turquoise Falcon and we took off with the group at 1830. I could feel that my legs were very fatigued and I wasn't too sure how the ride was going to turn out. I just hoped that I didn't cramp again.
We didn't ride the usual Silver Bluff route, but rode across the 13th Street bridge into South Carolina, out Storm Branch to Pine Grove, and then made some other turns onto roads that I'm unfamiliar with until we returned to the Warehouse.
I hung with Matt and Nate for most of the ride pulling around 25 mph and above. I felt my calves tightening at about mile 12 and worried that I was in for more pain, but somehow I stayed loose and rode hard all the way back to the shop.
I got in a good 35 mph pull across the bridge which is always a smoking fast piece of road, but sorta dropped off the paceline. It took a second to catch up and when I did I recovered for about a minute and then did one last pull on the flat of Sand Bar Ferry Road at 28.5 mph. Of course Nate and Todd sprinted past me to the stop light. Nate was on a cyclocross bike with knobbies.
How does he do it.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Rides: FATS
Today I had FATS penciled in on my schedule. Zach couldn't make the ride, because he had too many errands to attend to, so I would be riding alone. Just me and the Monocog.
Fortunately I ran into some older dudes in the parking lot whose names were Jimmy and Phil. The homeboys let me tag along while they rode Deep Step Trail. This was my first time on Deep Step Trail, because it has always been closed every other time I've been out to the FATS. Deep Step Trail was very similar to the other trails at FATS. Mostly flat, fast, and hard packed single track. There were quite a few more rollers on this trail though. The ride was only about eight miles, but my legs were screaming the whole time. The swim I did prior to the ride had taken quite a bit out of me and I was having trouble cresting some of the short steep climbs.
It was another good day to be on the bike. Hot as fuck of course. I'll have to give Zach hell for not coming out.
Fortunately I ran into some older dudes in the parking lot whose names were Jimmy and Phil. The homeboys let me tag along while they rode Deep Step Trail. This was my first time on Deep Step Trail, because it has always been closed every other time I've been out to the FATS. Deep Step Trail was very similar to the other trails at FATS. Mostly flat, fast, and hard packed single track. There were quite a few more rollers on this trail though. The ride was only about eight miles, but my legs were screaming the whole time. The swim I did prior to the ride had taken quite a bit out of me and I was having trouble cresting some of the short steep climbs.
It was another good day to be on the bike. Hot as fuck of course. I'll have to give Zach hell for not coming out.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Rides: AJBW Group Road Ride
Zach and I rolled into the Warehouse parking lot right at 1800. The group didn't leave until 1840. Bogus.
The route was the same as usual; Sand Bar Ferry Road, Old Jackson Road, Silver Bluff Road, Pine Log Road, Church Road, Sand Bar Ferry Road.
After the warmup on Sand Bar Ferry Road a firefighter named Matt and I broke away from the peloton and started doing some pulls up in the 26/27 mph range. On a long straight away I glanced over my shoulder and noticed my friend Bobby had also broken away from the peloton and was on the attack on his lonesome. Matt and I slowed so that Bobby could catch us and then we three rode together. Matt and I lost Bobby on the Silver Bluff climb and started down Pine Log Road.
That's when I started to cramp...bad. I was most certainly dehydrated. I hadn't taken care of myself. My calves were like two fists that wouldn't unclench. It hurt like a motherfucker.
Matt waited up for a bit, but I just couldn't ride. I had to walk the cramps off for a while and drink up all my water. I told Matt to take off when Bobby and some other riders caught us.
I spun the last 12 miles of the ride at 16 mph. Not exactly smoking fast.
Better luck next time and drink some water.
The route was the same as usual; Sand Bar Ferry Road, Old Jackson Road, Silver Bluff Road, Pine Log Road, Church Road, Sand Bar Ferry Road.
After the warmup on Sand Bar Ferry Road a firefighter named Matt and I broke away from the peloton and started doing some pulls up in the 26/27 mph range. On a long straight away I glanced over my shoulder and noticed my friend Bobby had also broken away from the peloton and was on the attack on his lonesome. Matt and I slowed so that Bobby could catch us and then we three rode together. Matt and I lost Bobby on the Silver Bluff climb and started down Pine Log Road.
That's when I started to cramp...bad. I was most certainly dehydrated. I hadn't taken care of myself. My calves were like two fists that wouldn't unclench. It hurt like a motherfucker.
Matt waited up for a bit, but I just couldn't ride. I had to walk the cramps off for a while and drink up all my water. I told Matt to take off when Bobby and some other riders caught us.
I spun the last 12 miles of the ride at 16 mph. Not exactly smoking fast.
Better luck next time and drink some water.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Nonsense: It Begins
Today was another day off the bike, but I still accomplished some good training. I'm currently preparing for Special Forces Assessment and Selection (SFAS) and have a new blog with day by day blow by blow accounts of my training regimen. Each week includes four days of riding so I'll have ill shit to post on THIS blog regarding being on the bike ponies.
Keep it real by getting down and doing some riding wherever you are in the world.
Respek.
P.S. next big post about epic riding will be NORBA at Sugar Mountain, N.C. Give me another day or two.
Keep it real by getting down and doing some riding wherever you are in the world.
Respek.
P.S. next big post about epic riding will be NORBA at Sugar Mountain, N.C. Give me another day or two.
Journeys: Stokesville, VA (May 26th, 27th, 28th, and 29th)
Before we begin, a note from the author:
Dearest readers, I must admit that I left my journal at home for this specific event, meaning many facts will most likely be skewed, confused, and omitted, as I am writing this article two months after the event occurred. Forgive me ahead of time. Ah, what the fuck do you care?
Friday May 26th, 2006 - 0900
For those of you with no experience in the military I must awaken your senses to a new concept. That is the concept of the 24 hour duty. The 24 hour duty is not your friend. A 24 hour duty at Fort Gordon goes along these lines. First, Report to the assigned duty area at 0700 on the duty day. Next, carefully guard and answer a telephone for the next 24 hours, no sleeping. The duty will end at 0700 on the next day, equaling 24 hours, hence the title “24 hour duty”. It’s a very productive and soldierly task.
On Thursday May 25th, 2006 at 0700 I reported to Jones Hall for MY 24 hour duty. At 0700 on Friday May 26th, 2006 I was released from my duties, returned to my barracks room and packed my truck for a drive to, none other than, Stokesville, VA. I was heading to the MORE group’s Memorial Day riding event by invitation of my dear friends, Steve and Karen.
A brief note on MORE:
Mid-Atlantic Off-Road Enthusiasts (MORE) is a very large and very kick ass group of riders based out of Maryland and Virginia if my memory serves me correctly. These dudes and dudettes get RIDING. They just get it. They put on huge group events, do group rides in their local areas during the week, promote riding, drink beer, build and maintain loads of single track, and did I say kick ass? If you live in Maryland or Virginia you need to be riding with these people. If you don’t, well, you’re a cheeky fucking monkey aren’t you?
End brief note on MORE.
Stokesville is basically Nowheresville, Va. After leaving Fort Gordon at 0900 on that wonderful Friday morning it took nine hours of driving and four Red Bulls to get me to my destination. Of course, as soon as I entered the state of Virginia it began pissing the rain down in buckets and buckets.
What is this shit? I just want to ride! Would the weather clear? Was I destined for a mucky weekend? Did it matter? NO! Just ride!
In short, I arrived at the campground on Friday afternoon while Steve and Karen were out riding and set up my tent and unpacked my truck. When Steve and Karen returned I was introduced to their friend Big Joe. Big Joe has been given the following titles and will be referred to by any one of them at any random time throughout my blog; Big Joe, Medium Joe, Indiana Joe, and Big Indiana. So, Medium Joe rides some type of full suspension Giant mountain bike that I’m not really familiar with and he is a bad ass cook. He’s from Ohio and is, oh, big.
Did I mention Indiana Joe is a pretty big guy?
I had been up for quite a while at that point and didn’t feeling like trying to ride, so, I tooled around the campsite. We ate dinner under the EZ up, spoke of life and riding, and drank Samuel Adams.
Thanks Sam.
Saturday May 27th, 2006 – 0700
Huge Ride – Hanky Mountain/Branard Pond (I think)
Karen whipped up some of the best damn pancakes for us riders that morning and we were certainly going to need them. We were all in for a very long day. According to the schedule which was hung under the EZ up, the “Huge” ride would meet at 0900 at the campground pavilion. I didn’t know what the route was ahead of time or what the trails would be like. It was not until later that I learned the names Hanky Mountain and Branard Pond (I think).
We warriors in our spandex armor mustered at the pavilion rally point and prepared for battle. Jens himself would be leading us into the fray on this day in May. It was awesome to be around so many other riders and not have to feel the pressure of race day. It made the riding plain old fun and not insanely competitive. The truest roots of grass in my mind.
The pack started by riding a gradually rolling gravel road out the back of the campground. We followed these gradual ups and downs for a few minutes, warming our legs up, before turning right onto a somewhat steep single track climb. This initial climb fucked up a lot of riders including me when the chic in front of me fell over.
What the hell?
Sometime after I had managed to break away from the incapable peloton and continue the climb unhindered, I was suddenly and unceremoniously dropped by a dude riding a single speed. He was standing, hammering, and burning me. I need to get me one of those. I later learned the dude’s handle was Evan and that everyone busted his balls for working on his bike on the trail instead of at the shop.
When I got to the top of the climb there were a few lead people waiting for everyone to catch their slow asses up so we could continue riding. At this juncture approximately 10 riders bailed to ride a shorter route, so, we were down to about 20 personnel. After approximately six miles more miles of double track climbing we regrouped again before hitting the good stuff, the single track. I’m supposing we were atop Hanky Mountain at this point and that the descent in front of us would be long. Riding off the mountain was pretty sick. There were enough rock gardens, logs, and sharp turns to keep your ass out of the seat and your eyes straining with focus. I rode behind Jens himself, the ride leader, and we tore that shit up.
Watch those thorns at the very bottom right before you hit the gravel road, they’ll eat you up.
We regrouped again and rode a short piece on a gravel road to a paved road. We made a left onto the paved road, a guy named Mike flatted, and I struck up a conversation with a guy who road a Dean. I can’t remember his name, but I’m pretty sure I have his business card.
Nameless dude and I waited up for Mike to fix his flat and then we rode off to catch up with the group. We caught up when the peloton stopped at some random country convenience store on the side of the road to buy random food stuffs from inside. In this moment my bite valve exited the Camelbak tubing and water began spilling down my jersey.
Sweet.
While I fumbled with my drinking system the group…left. They were riding in a fast pace line down the pavement and it was a major bitch catching them.
Thanks dudes.
We took the paved road to Branard Pond (I think) to ride more killer single track. Branard Pond (I think) started with a long and gradual climb on single track that started toasting the group’s collective endurance. I myself was unmercifully dropped by a woman name Johanna, Jens himself, Mike who flatted, and those two Canondale broskies. This “Fantastic 5” had been kicking ass pretty hard all day, giving me a free lesson on how to ride up a mountain.
We again regrouped at the top of this climb, I took a picture and then we took off down another descent which was quite similar to the Hanky Mountain descent without some of the leaf pockets.
When we finished the drop we linked up with another trail, that was unknown in name to me, which took us back to the paved road we had initially ridden to Branard Pond (I think). We back tracked to Hanky Mountain Trail where the group split for the final time. Six riders, which included the “Fantastic 5” and me, would ride back over Hanky Mountain to return to camp, while the rest of the group would return via the paved road.
The “Fantastic 5” put a solid 10 minutes on my slow ass on the climb that ensued. I was getting pretty burnt at this point. Fortunately, just as they were turning around to sweep me up I rolled into sight and we continued riding as one. Unfortunately, my luck ran out on the double track descent back to camp and a stick ate my rear derailleur.
What the fuck? Can I go more than two weeks without having some shit happen to my rear derailleur?
This stick toasted my shit all the way and I was done riding for the day. I took the chain off and stuffed it into my Camelbak just as Jens himself came back looking for me. Jens himself solemnly expressed his sympathy for my unfortunate self and consoled me for my loss. He also informed me that I was only about two miles out from camp. After we descended that first piece of single track we had ascended earlier in the day, I told Jens himself that I could walk it the rest of the way in and he could go on without me. Nice guy that Jens himself.
I hadn’t seen Steve and Karen throughout the entire ride, I suppose they had their own route planned for the day. When they finally rolled in I dropped the bad news bombshell regarding my rear derailleur. Steve took a couple of looks at it and then told me what a lucky little asshole I was, because he had a spare rear derailleur in his Rubbermaid bin. Before we could replace the derailleur I had to buy a derailleur hangar off of Jens himself for a fatty 20 bucks. When we drummed up Steve’s spare derailleur we found that it was a short cage derailleur and discovered, after attaching it to the bike, that I wouldn’t be able to use my harder gears.
Hmf, not that I needed them I suppose.
Darkness closed in on Stokesville and we dined under the EZ up. After cleaning up the dinner mess, we the West Virginia collective traveled down to the local MORE bonfire to represent.
The air was filled with chatter of riding around the leaping flames as everyone recounted their day and caught up with old friends. This was definitely a cool scene to be on. Steve found a disgusting bag of jalapeno potato chips and conned me into trying one. That motherfucker came right back up after it slimed its way down my throat.
Son of a bitch it was hot.
I turned in at 2300. It had been a long day.
Sunday May 28th, 2006 - 0700
Allow me to skip the standard early morning formalities.
Huge Ride – The Southern Traverse
As usual the band of warriors would meet and greet at 0900 at the campground pavilion, but Steve, Karen, and I declined the offer and left at 0800 to get to the trailhead early and beat the crowd. Steve gave me the skinny regarding the Southern Traverse as we drove in the car. It started with a dirt road climb that took approximately one hour, followed by a long stand of single track known as the Shenandoah Mountain Trail which descended to 13 miles of desolate paved road that had to be ridden to return to the vehicle.
Bummer.
13 miles.
Unlucky.
We rolled into the parking area at the base of the initial climb to find that Jens himself and some of the City Bike brothers had beat us at our own early game. They lit off before us and we never saw them again. We finally got things going ourselves burning a solid hour to make the climb. At the top we found the junction with the Shenandoah Mountain Trail, took a picture, and continued mission.
Shenandoah Mountain Trail was sick, sick. In spots it was just barely carved into the side of the mountain leaving you teetering on it’s off camber edge. Skree fields provided some excellent technical pitches that neither Steve nor I could clean and the downhill at the end of the whole shebang was super buff and insanely fast.
Who needs brakes anyway?
It was a sweet ride, that Shenandoah Mountain Trail, but the 13 miles of barren road stole the smile right off of my face. First one back to the car gets to pick everyone else up.
I was the first one back.
Ramsey’s Draft (Creek) Trail
A quick note:
In Virginia lingo a creek, or small stream, is known as a “draft”. Since my experience in Virginia, I have forever substituted the word “creek” with the word “draft” in my vocabulary.
End quick note.
On our way back from the Southern Traverse we decided to drop in on a short trail known as Ramsey’s Draft.
Ramsey’s Draft Trail wasn’t very long, only 30 minutes of riding, but it totally kicked ass. If you’re lucky enough to have someone shuttle you to the top of the trailhead and then pick you up at the bottom, you can eliminate a long and steep road climb. Steve and I are lucky enough to have Karen. Ramsey’s Draft Trail rode super fast and had some sick, sick rock and root sections. Definitely a must try trail if your in the area and have the time.
After wrapping up an awesome day of riding we returned to camp for the night to engage in yet another dinner and bonfire. Before it got dark us three went for a swim in the local draft below the campground. At the draft we ran into friends Rich Holmes and Ryan from Ohio and I got in some sweet cliff diving.
Is five feet a cliff?
At least the leap made Karen look in the other direction for fear of my life.
I survived and we returned to the EZ up for dinner. Once again, Steve and I are lucky to have Karen who can cook up some mean meals. Shortly after finishing the dishes we strolled down to the final bonfire of the weekend to acquire as many Sierra Nevada brews as possible. We were certainly in for a treat when we were exposed to Single Speed World Championship footage and Skudmore presented mountain biking super star, Chris Eatough to the crowd.
Chris had arrived earlier in the day with his wife and set up a tent at the campsite next to us. We had a good laugh about this fact, because earlier in the weekend Steve had dug a cat hole and taken a shit on the fringes of the vacant campsite. Of course, he didn’t feel bad. Would you feel bad?
Whatever.
Monday May 29th, 2006 - 0800
Reddish Knob Trail
The Reddish Knob trailhead is on top of a mountain, that could possibly carry the same name, but I just don’t know. This mountain, who’s name is unknown to me, was literally on the WV/VA border and had a totally kick ass view of the surrounding area, allowing us to see for miles into both states. I didn’t know anything about the trail except that Steve, Karen, and Medium Joe all said it was pretty sweet and that, thanks to Karen, I wouldn’t have to tackle the bitching road climb to the top of the mountain. Karen would shuttle for Steve and me once again. After I parked my truck at the bottom of the trail we drove to the top and started the ride. Karen made so many sacrifices this weekend. Thank you.
Reddish Knob Trail was, hands down, a killer trail. The riding just kept getting better and better with each passing day. Hanky Mountain seemed merely mediocre at this point. The trail kicked off with a wicked technical rock garden that I didn’t even come close to cleaning. You could spend all day re-riding it to your heart’s content, whether you clean that fatty bitch or not is up to the gods.
Afterwards we faced two or three short, but steep climbs before we got going downhill for good. On one of these climbs Steve snapped his chain and on another we ran into three more riders. Steve quickly fixed his chain with a Shimano master link and we quickly fixed the crowded trail dilemma by unceremoniously dropping the three amigos on the remaining descent. The trail just kept winding down and down…it was a never ending story. At the bottom we hit a creek crossing, the trail flattened out, and then we saw the Tacoma.
Steve and I hopped into the truck and lit off for camp to tear things down. We all had long drives home and were ready to get underway. I helped drop the EZ up and load up the bike trailer before leaving for Augusta. Nine hours was plenty of time to reflect on how great the weekend turned out. No rain, good riding, and good times.
I can’t say enough good things about MORE and I thank them for putting on such a great event. Let me reiterate that if you live in Maryland or Virginia join up with MORE!
Get Riding!
Dearest readers, I must admit that I left my journal at home for this specific event, meaning many facts will most likely be skewed, confused, and omitted, as I am writing this article two months after the event occurred. Forgive me ahead of time. Ah, what the fuck do you care?
Friday May 26th, 2006 - 0900
For those of you with no experience in the military I must awaken your senses to a new concept. That is the concept of the 24 hour duty. The 24 hour duty is not your friend. A 24 hour duty at Fort Gordon goes along these lines. First, Report to the assigned duty area at 0700 on the duty day. Next, carefully guard and answer a telephone for the next 24 hours, no sleeping. The duty will end at 0700 on the next day, equaling 24 hours, hence the title “24 hour duty”. It’s a very productive and soldierly task.
On Thursday May 25th, 2006 at 0700 I reported to Jones Hall for MY 24 hour duty. At 0700 on Friday May 26th, 2006 I was released from my duties, returned to my barracks room and packed my truck for a drive to, none other than, Stokesville, VA. I was heading to the MORE group’s Memorial Day riding event by invitation of my dear friends, Steve and Karen.
A brief note on MORE:
Mid-Atlantic Off-Road Enthusiasts (MORE) is a very large and very kick ass group of riders based out of Maryland and Virginia if my memory serves me correctly. These dudes and dudettes get RIDING. They just get it. They put on huge group events, do group rides in their local areas during the week, promote riding, drink beer, build and maintain loads of single track, and did I say kick ass? If you live in Maryland or Virginia you need to be riding with these people. If you don’t, well, you’re a cheeky fucking monkey aren’t you?
End brief note on MORE.
Stokesville is basically Nowheresville, Va. After leaving Fort Gordon at 0900 on that wonderful Friday morning it took nine hours of driving and four Red Bulls to get me to my destination. Of course, as soon as I entered the state of Virginia it began pissing the rain down in buckets and buckets.
What is this shit? I just want to ride! Would the weather clear? Was I destined for a mucky weekend? Did it matter? NO! Just ride!
In short, I arrived at the campground on Friday afternoon while Steve and Karen were out riding and set up my tent and unpacked my truck. When Steve and Karen returned I was introduced to their friend Big Joe. Big Joe has been given the following titles and will be referred to by any one of them at any random time throughout my blog; Big Joe, Medium Joe, Indiana Joe, and Big Indiana. So, Medium Joe rides some type of full suspension Giant mountain bike that I’m not really familiar with and he is a bad ass cook. He’s from Ohio and is, oh, big.
Did I mention Indiana Joe is a pretty big guy?
I had been up for quite a while at that point and didn’t feeling like trying to ride, so, I tooled around the campsite. We ate dinner under the EZ up, spoke of life and riding, and drank Samuel Adams.
Thanks Sam.
Saturday May 27th, 2006 – 0700
Huge Ride – Hanky Mountain/Branard Pond (I think)
Karen whipped up some of the best damn pancakes for us riders that morning and we were certainly going to need them. We were all in for a very long day. According to the schedule which was hung under the EZ up, the “Huge” ride would meet at 0900 at the campground pavilion. I didn’t know what the route was ahead of time or what the trails would be like. It was not until later that I learned the names Hanky Mountain and Branard Pond (I think).
We warriors in our spandex armor mustered at the pavilion rally point and prepared for battle. Jens himself would be leading us into the fray on this day in May. It was awesome to be around so many other riders and not have to feel the pressure of race day. It made the riding plain old fun and not insanely competitive. The truest roots of grass in my mind.
The pack started by riding a gradually rolling gravel road out the back of the campground. We followed these gradual ups and downs for a few minutes, warming our legs up, before turning right onto a somewhat steep single track climb. This initial climb fucked up a lot of riders including me when the chic in front of me fell over.
What the hell?
Sometime after I had managed to break away from the incapable peloton and continue the climb unhindered, I was suddenly and unceremoniously dropped by a dude riding a single speed. He was standing, hammering, and burning me. I need to get me one of those. I later learned the dude’s handle was Evan and that everyone busted his balls for working on his bike on the trail instead of at the shop.
When I got to the top of the climb there were a few lead people waiting for everyone to catch their slow asses up so we could continue riding. At this juncture approximately 10 riders bailed to ride a shorter route, so, we were down to about 20 personnel. After approximately six miles more miles of double track climbing we regrouped again before hitting the good stuff, the single track. I’m supposing we were atop Hanky Mountain at this point and that the descent in front of us would be long. Riding off the mountain was pretty sick. There were enough rock gardens, logs, and sharp turns to keep your ass out of the seat and your eyes straining with focus. I rode behind Jens himself, the ride leader, and we tore that shit up.
Watch those thorns at the very bottom right before you hit the gravel road, they’ll eat you up.
We regrouped again and rode a short piece on a gravel road to a paved road. We made a left onto the paved road, a guy named Mike flatted, and I struck up a conversation with a guy who road a Dean. I can’t remember his name, but I’m pretty sure I have his business card.
Nameless dude and I waited up for Mike to fix his flat and then we rode off to catch up with the group. We caught up when the peloton stopped at some random country convenience store on the side of the road to buy random food stuffs from inside. In this moment my bite valve exited the Camelbak tubing and water began spilling down my jersey.
Sweet.
While I fumbled with my drinking system the group…left. They were riding in a fast pace line down the pavement and it was a major bitch catching them.
Thanks dudes.
We took the paved road to Branard Pond (I think) to ride more killer single track. Branard Pond (I think) started with a long and gradual climb on single track that started toasting the group’s collective endurance. I myself was unmercifully dropped by a woman name Johanna, Jens himself, Mike who flatted, and those two Canondale broskies. This “Fantastic 5” had been kicking ass pretty hard all day, giving me a free lesson on how to ride up a mountain.
We again regrouped at the top of this climb, I took a picture and then we took off down another descent which was quite similar to the Hanky Mountain descent without some of the leaf pockets.
When we finished the drop we linked up with another trail, that was unknown in name to me, which took us back to the paved road we had initially ridden to Branard Pond (I think). We back tracked to Hanky Mountain Trail where the group split for the final time. Six riders, which included the “Fantastic 5” and me, would ride back over Hanky Mountain to return to camp, while the rest of the group would return via the paved road.
The “Fantastic 5” put a solid 10 minutes on my slow ass on the climb that ensued. I was getting pretty burnt at this point. Fortunately, just as they were turning around to sweep me up I rolled into sight and we continued riding as one. Unfortunately, my luck ran out on the double track descent back to camp and a stick ate my rear derailleur.
What the fuck? Can I go more than two weeks without having some shit happen to my rear derailleur?
This stick toasted my shit all the way and I was done riding for the day. I took the chain off and stuffed it into my Camelbak just as Jens himself came back looking for me. Jens himself solemnly expressed his sympathy for my unfortunate self and consoled me for my loss. He also informed me that I was only about two miles out from camp. After we descended that first piece of single track we had ascended earlier in the day, I told Jens himself that I could walk it the rest of the way in and he could go on without me. Nice guy that Jens himself.
I hadn’t seen Steve and Karen throughout the entire ride, I suppose they had their own route planned for the day. When they finally rolled in I dropped the bad news bombshell regarding my rear derailleur. Steve took a couple of looks at it and then told me what a lucky little asshole I was, because he had a spare rear derailleur in his Rubbermaid bin. Before we could replace the derailleur I had to buy a derailleur hangar off of Jens himself for a fatty 20 bucks. When we drummed up Steve’s spare derailleur we found that it was a short cage derailleur and discovered, after attaching it to the bike, that I wouldn’t be able to use my harder gears.
Hmf, not that I needed them I suppose.
Darkness closed in on Stokesville and we dined under the EZ up. After cleaning up the dinner mess, we the West Virginia collective traveled down to the local MORE bonfire to represent.
The air was filled with chatter of riding around the leaping flames as everyone recounted their day and caught up with old friends. This was definitely a cool scene to be on. Steve found a disgusting bag of jalapeno potato chips and conned me into trying one. That motherfucker came right back up after it slimed its way down my throat.
Son of a bitch it was hot.
I turned in at 2300. It had been a long day.
Sunday May 28th, 2006 - 0700
Allow me to skip the standard early morning formalities.
Huge Ride – The Southern Traverse
As usual the band of warriors would meet and greet at 0900 at the campground pavilion, but Steve, Karen, and I declined the offer and left at 0800 to get to the trailhead early and beat the crowd. Steve gave me the skinny regarding the Southern Traverse as we drove in the car. It started with a dirt road climb that took approximately one hour, followed by a long stand of single track known as the Shenandoah Mountain Trail which descended to 13 miles of desolate paved road that had to be ridden to return to the vehicle.
Bummer.
13 miles.
Unlucky.
We rolled into the parking area at the base of the initial climb to find that Jens himself and some of the City Bike brothers had beat us at our own early game. They lit off before us and we never saw them again. We finally got things going ourselves burning a solid hour to make the climb. At the top we found the junction with the Shenandoah Mountain Trail, took a picture, and continued mission.
Shenandoah Mountain Trail was sick, sick. In spots it was just barely carved into the side of the mountain leaving you teetering on it’s off camber edge. Skree fields provided some excellent technical pitches that neither Steve nor I could clean and the downhill at the end of the whole shebang was super buff and insanely fast.
Who needs brakes anyway?
It was a sweet ride, that Shenandoah Mountain Trail, but the 13 miles of barren road stole the smile right off of my face. First one back to the car gets to pick everyone else up.
I was the first one back.
Ramsey’s Draft (Creek) Trail
A quick note:
In Virginia lingo a creek, or small stream, is known as a “draft”. Since my experience in Virginia, I have forever substituted the word “creek” with the word “draft” in my vocabulary.
End quick note.
On our way back from the Southern Traverse we decided to drop in on a short trail known as Ramsey’s Draft.
Ramsey’s Draft Trail wasn’t very long, only 30 minutes of riding, but it totally kicked ass. If you’re lucky enough to have someone shuttle you to the top of the trailhead and then pick you up at the bottom, you can eliminate a long and steep road climb. Steve and I are lucky enough to have Karen. Ramsey’s Draft Trail rode super fast and had some sick, sick rock and root sections. Definitely a must try trail if your in the area and have the time.
After wrapping up an awesome day of riding we returned to camp for the night to engage in yet another dinner and bonfire. Before it got dark us three went for a swim in the local draft below the campground. At the draft we ran into friends Rich Holmes and Ryan from Ohio and I got in some sweet cliff diving.
Is five feet a cliff?
At least the leap made Karen look in the other direction for fear of my life.
I survived and we returned to the EZ up for dinner. Once again, Steve and I are lucky to have Karen who can cook up some mean meals. Shortly after finishing the dishes we strolled down to the final bonfire of the weekend to acquire as many Sierra Nevada brews as possible. We were certainly in for a treat when we were exposed to Single Speed World Championship footage and Skudmore presented mountain biking super star, Chris Eatough to the crowd.
Chris had arrived earlier in the day with his wife and set up a tent at the campsite next to us. We had a good laugh about this fact, because earlier in the weekend Steve had dug a cat hole and taken a shit on the fringes of the vacant campsite. Of course, he didn’t feel bad. Would you feel bad?
Whatever.
Monday May 29th, 2006 - 0800
Reddish Knob Trail
The Reddish Knob trailhead is on top of a mountain, that could possibly carry the same name, but I just don’t know. This mountain, who’s name is unknown to me, was literally on the WV/VA border and had a totally kick ass view of the surrounding area, allowing us to see for miles into both states. I didn’t know anything about the trail except that Steve, Karen, and Medium Joe all said it was pretty sweet and that, thanks to Karen, I wouldn’t have to tackle the bitching road climb to the top of the mountain. Karen would shuttle for Steve and me once again. After I parked my truck at the bottom of the trail we drove to the top and started the ride. Karen made so many sacrifices this weekend. Thank you.
Reddish Knob Trail was, hands down, a killer trail. The riding just kept getting better and better with each passing day. Hanky Mountain seemed merely mediocre at this point. The trail kicked off with a wicked technical rock garden that I didn’t even come close to cleaning. You could spend all day re-riding it to your heart’s content, whether you clean that fatty bitch or not is up to the gods.
Afterwards we faced two or three short, but steep climbs before we got going downhill for good. On one of these climbs Steve snapped his chain and on another we ran into three more riders. Steve quickly fixed his chain with a Shimano master link and we quickly fixed the crowded trail dilemma by unceremoniously dropping the three amigos on the remaining descent. The trail just kept winding down and down…it was a never ending story. At the bottom we hit a creek crossing, the trail flattened out, and then we saw the Tacoma.
Steve and I hopped into the truck and lit off for camp to tear things down. We all had long drives home and were ready to get underway. I helped drop the EZ up and load up the bike trailer before leaving for Augusta. Nine hours was plenty of time to reflect on how great the weekend turned out. No rain, good riding, and good times.
I can’t say enough good things about MORE and I thank them for putting on such a great event. Let me reiterate that if you live in Maryland or Virginia join up with MORE!
Get Riding!
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Nonsense: Hero To Zero
Sorry folks no riding today. The new training regimen begins tomorrow, Monday, and I took today off to rest up. SFAS is going to be quite the challenge come September. I will make a big post about riding in Stokesville, VA later tonight. Also, I heard somewhere on the news that Bigfoot is real...enjoy.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Journeys: Pisgah National Forest (May 20th and 21st)
Saturday May 20th, 2006 - 0600
A mere 5 days have elapsed since my last excursion to Pisgah, my wilderness sanctuary, so this post may seem redundant. Although my absence from the forest was short it felt like I had been gone for a year. The hustle and bustle of the big city was beginning to wear on me and I knew it was time to once again escape to the mountains of western North Carolina. As usual it was just me, my Tacoma, my Giant Trance 3, and 100 of my favorite CDs.
Well, 99 of my favorite CDs. Somehow an album by the rapper 50 cent had snuck its way into my CD wallet. I say it was the aliens.
A few lonely hours into my journey I made a vital pit stop in Travelers Rest, S.C. a rather small community situated just north of Greenville, S.C. on State Route 25. I say vital, because Travelers Rest, S.C. is the home of Sunrift Outfitters, a truly kick ass outdoor store.
Let me get in some props…
Encased in silvery tin and plastered with stickers, Sunrift offers up to kayakers, canoeists, climbers, backpackers, hikers, and mountain bikers alike. I’ll be blunt, the bike shop area is the weakest section of the shop and the strongest is most likely the kayak/canoe area. The staff of employee’s collective attitude seems to equal nothing less than a good time and I recommend that if you’re in Travelers Rest you drop in on the shop and take a look around. I would also tell you where the shop is located, but I don’t know…I just turn right at a random stoplight in town.
Yee haw! Onward Tacoma!
To Pisgah we arrive.
I entered the forest through the main entrance on State Route 276 and began searching for an open campsite on Yellow Gap (YG) Road. After a long drive down the bumpy gravel thoroughfare I discovered that the only campsite on the road that was open for business was YG 7 or the site closest to the Laurel Mountain Trailhead. The site also happened to be trashed through and through as if a hurricane of a redneck college frat party had just blown through the area.
Rather inconvenient.
It seemed the redneck population had been enforcing their “infliction of environmental damage” rule. (Please reference “Pisgah National Forest – May 13th and 14th”).
I spent two hours amassing a mountain of garbage in the back of my truck and ferrying it to a dumpster in the forest education center. Everything from baby diapers, full beer cans, condoms, food, Coleman fuel canisters, plastic 5 gallon buckets, and old pizza made it into the bed of my truck. For my efforts the forest ranger at the forest education center awarded me two free passes to the education center which I will probably never use.
Awesome.
South Mills River Tour – Bradley Creek Trail/South Mills River Trail/Forest Service Road (FSR) 476
This is the South Mills River Tour according to the mountain bike guide book OFF THE BEATEN TRACK written by Jim Parham. Start by riding south on Bradley Creek Trail from YG Road and after five miles turn left, or west, onto South Mills River Trail. South Mills River Trail will then follow the Mills River for 13 miles before turning into FSR 476. Continue the ride on FSR 476 until you reach YG Road. Turn right, or east, onto YG Road and ride until you have completed the loop at the Bradley Creek Trailhead. The total mileage for this ride was 23.9 miles and the estimated riding time was four to five hours.
I actually planned to begin the ride in the Pink Beds by riding the Pink Beds Trail to FSR 476 and then riding Jim Parham’s route backwards until I reached the Pink Beds Trail again, which I would ride back to my parked truck. Too easy.
My litter pick-up project kept me out of the saddle until about 1400. I parked my Tacoma in the Pink Beds parking lot and started my ride on the Pink Beds Trail as planned. I wasn’t really sure whether the Pink Beds Trail was seasonal or not, but it was a sweet warm-up ride that had some relaxing flow to it. I passed an old gauging station, swerved a motor vehicles gate, and was soon pedaling beside the South Mills River. South Mills River Trail was double track, soggy, slow, and covered in warm horseshit.
Not exactly impressive.
Not long after rolling tire onto the trail I began a long steady ascent away from the river, which was a surprise, because my Pisgah Trail map didn’t depict the trail moving away from the river at all. After about 30 minutes of climbing the trail forked and I found myself at a crucial decision point. Should I continue following the double track I was on and drop down the other side of the ridge I had just climbed, or make a left onto a rather unused looking piece of single track that disappeared into a mass of rhododendron? I retrieved my map from my Camelbak and sat down to think.
The red dotted line that depicted South Mills River Trail on my map never appeared to leave Mills River, much less climb a ridge to the south of the river and drop over the other side of said ridge headed in the direction of Black Mountain Trail which is in another area of the forest. Black Mountain Trail was reserved for tomorrow, Sunday. The idea of riding the single track off to the left was growing on me, because I have a strong dislike for double track, but there seemed to be too much vegetation growing on it to deem it worthy of a ride-worthy trail.
What the fuck.
I chose to go left.
The rhododendron choked the unmarked trail so tightly that I had trouble seeing the trail with my two eyes. All I could do was simply follow the narrow gap in the flora in front of my face. I feared that an aggressive rhododendron tentacle would reach out and ruin my day by destroying my rear derailleur, so I let my right leg hang loose for some added protection. I’m guessing it had been years since a human had touched this trail. Thankfully, the foliage started to thin out and I found myself on top of a washed out downhill section. The downhill section appeared to drop off of the ridge towards what I assumed was south. I had hoped that the trail would take me on a northerly route and return me to Mills River. I was on my way to becoming lost.
Bogus.
The downhill was gnarly, littered with loose rocks, log drops, and deep pockets of dead leaves. Those factors, coupled with my forgetfulness to apply my brakes, made for a pretty wicked descent.
Decision point number two.
The downhill plopped me out on a piece of double track similar to that which I had previously ascended. I was certain I could hear the river once again, but I couldn’t see it. The double track went left, seemingly back from the general direction in which I had just come and to the right the trail began climbing again. I was not really sure what to do at this point, so, I sat down and started eating some crackers.
I went right. An endlessly boring railroad grade climb reminiscent of Props Run, WV ensued. That is, if you rode up Props Run.
Then it started to rain.
Fuck.
The rain started to fall harder.
Fuck again.
I pulled up under a stout pine tree to give the storm some time to simmer down. I was wet and somewhat lost.
Rather inconvenient.
I’d rather be here than in Afghanistan…I think.
The rain didn’t seem content with slacking off so I sucked things up and started riding again. I continued climbing for approximately 45 minutes when I came to decision point number 3.
Right or Left? Both options were a continuation of ascending double track. I chose right.
I rode on for about 3 minutes before I found myself in a very familiar place. The word “fuck” flowed continuously from my white boy mouth. I was once again at the first decision point, the head of the overgrown single track. I’ll be the first to admit I felt like a jackass, but nothing made any sense. I wasn’t sure how I could ride in a circle while riding away from decision point number one for over an hour.
Fuck this shit. I have no idea what happened…did I pass out? Did aliens abduct me? Where am I? Tail tucked I headed back to the truck.
Quitter.
When I returned to the Pink Beds Picnic Area I briefly paused at the public restroom facility to gently wash the warm horseshit from my face, arms, and legs. I had actually come across a group of equestrians on my ride back to the parking lot and courteously yielded to their tamed stallions while silently screaming profanities in my head.
Mount Pisgah
My body eventually attained a somewhat clean condition and I exited the restroom facility into a drizzling rain. I climbed into my Tacoma and decided I would take a dreary hike up Mount Pisgah, something I had never done. I slowly guided the Tacoma up and up and up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and arrived at the Mount Pisgah Trailhead shortly after passing the Pisgah Inn. In the trailhead parking lot sat two other vehicles. The first was an older looking gray Mercedes Benz with Ohio plates and the second was a grayish blue serial killer type van from Bumfuck, U.S.A. with interesting symbols such as “anarchy”, “69”, and “Hurley” hand painted on its side.
What the piss is that all about?
I slipped into my GO-LITE windbreaker to fend off the wind and rain and began my ascent. Shortly after starting up the trail I passed an odd looking woman hiking in the opposite direction who did not respond when I said hello. I say she was odd looking, because she resembled one of those steroid abusing German female Olympic swimmers.
The steroids had not treated her very well.
Closer to the top I caught up with a friendly young couple also ascending. In our brief greeting they mentioned that they were from Ohio. Ah…the Mercedes indeed. I left the Ohioans behind and crested Mount Pisgah on my lonesome.
I hadn’t been standing on the Mount Pisgah observation deck long before the Ohio couple joined me. From our perch at 5,721 feet above sea level, we had quite a commanding 360 degree view of the surrounding area regardless of the drizzled grayness precipitating from the sky.
Ominous black rain clouds to the northwest contrasted with azure skies while the sun slowly set in the west beaming defined rays of light through the fringes of the dark cloud cover bathing the vast valley floor in a golden glow. As the sun continued to dip behind the horizon the cloud lining was blazed with a soft yellow hue comparable to that of struck match. The mountains turned dark blue and the wind began to pick up as the storm continued to make its attack on the land.
It really rocked. I have pictures.
The sweat that previously escaped my pores on the ascent now chilled my body as the storm driven gusts from the west ripped around Mount Pisgah. I bailed with the Ohio couple and we discussed life topics such as the Army, mountain biking, and the drive down from Ohio.
Somehow we made it to the parking lot without attracting a single rain drop. I allowed the Ohio couple a glimpse at my smorgasbord of Pisgah maps so that they could continue to enjoy the forest’s treasures, but I’m not sure anything would be very exciting in the rain. We parted ways and I headed for YG Road.
The serial killer van was still parked in the lot.
The rain poured as I drove back down the mountain. When I finally made it back to my campsite, I somehow built a fire during a slight break in the rain under the impression that I would use it to cook dinner. The rain had different plans though, increasing its downpour to effectively penetrate the thick forest canopy and dampen my fire. I was forced to transfer my hunger pangs from pasta to pop tarts.
I fell asleep to the incessant beat of di-hydrogen monoxide against the rain fly of my tent.
Sunday May 21st, 2006 – 0700
Take a moment to imagine the processes I go through as I wake up, eat breakfast, and tear down camp. Done? Good.
Cradle of Forestry Area – Club Gap Trail/Black Mountain Trail/Thrift Cove Trail/Avery Creek Road/Avery Creek Trail
While the rain trapped me in my tent the previous night I took the time to plot what I hoped would be a kick ass ride in the Cradle of Forestry Area. With my reliable headlamp shining I pored over my maps and guidebooks coming up with the following route.
I would park my truck on FSR 477 at the Club Gap Trailhead. Next, I would climb Club Gap Trailhead to a 4-way trail junction with Buckwheat Knob Trail, Avery Creek Trail, and Black Mountain Trail. Then, I would turn northish onto Black Mountain Trail and ride it until its junction with Thrift Cove Trail above the Pisgah Ranger Station. I would ride the length of Thrift Cove Trail to State Route 276 and turn right, or westish. State Route 276 would be followed a short distance to Avery Creek Road where I would make a right hand turn. I would then be forced to ride the gravel road until I was north of the forest’s riding stables where I would find the Avery Creek Trailhead. I would ride Avery Creek Trail until I reached the aforementioned 4-way trail junction. Finally, I would descend on Club Gap Trail and return to my truck.
That was my plan and I was sticking to it.
Club Gap Trail was a grunt of a climb and I was feeling it in my lungs when I reached the 4-way trail junction. I continued gradually climbing on Black Mountain Trail which eventually mellowed out and then dropped to the Buckhorn Gap Hiking Shelter. The drop to the shelter was pretty laid back, but ended with a technically tricky massive set of log stairs. After you clean the stairs you have to cross a grassy Clawhammer Road to continue riding Black Mountain Trail. The trail naturally picks up again on the other side of the road, but not without a trail marker that declares this section of the trail “most difficult”, essentially a double black diamond.
Things turned black diamond on my ass for certain.
The climb away from Clawhammer Road was extremely technical with numerous tight ass switch backs containing small log steps. Needless to say, I hiked the Trance often. This rugged ascent paved the way to extremely narrow ridge top riding that included some killer cliff top overlooks and other interesting natural features. The “oh so” narrow ridge top trail continued for a few miles along the top of Black Mountain before beginning a long, dry, and loose descent to the junction with Thrift Cove Trail. Thrift Cove Trail only added to the radness of the descent, because it was super fast with gnarly bank turns and launchable water breaks that I lunched on. Wicked yo.
The compiled downhill was endless, but it did end didn’t it? I wouldn’t be sitting here typing this if it hadn’t ended. Or would I? ANYWAY.
I rocketed onto paved road in front of the Ranger station and pedaled the expected short distance on State Route 276 before making the turn onto Avery Creek Road. As previously stated, the riding stables are located on Avery Creek Road. I now know that the entire road does smell like horseshit.
Once I was past the unpleasant equestrian aroma factory I rolled onto Avery Creek Trail entering a lush jungle of rhododendron. The trail was extremely wet and loamy and I imagine that it is perpetually in this state. As I pedaled onward through the slog I came across a surprising amount of day hikers on the trail. It was good to see fellow members of society getting out and exercising while enjoying the outdoors. There was even a crew of Mexican dudes with slicked back hair, baggy denim shorts, and wife beaters wandering around on the trail. Black snake here, gushing waterfall there, check it out sometime if you have a moment. It certainly was a pretty trail.
Then trouble came along.
Equestrians. They were coming down the trail as I was ascending. I politely dismounted my own aluminum horse and watched them pass as I considered the fact that Avery Creek Trail is hiking/biking exclusive. That’s all I’m saying.
I continued to huff and puff my way up to the 4-way intersection and was finally rewarded with the downhill on Club Gap Trail closing out another epic ride. I definitely recommend Black Mountain Trail to you fellow mountain bikers out there as well as the other trails included in the route. Also, try to fit in Buckwheat Knob Trail so you can tell me about it, as I haven’t ridden it yet.
My riding mission was accomplished for the day, so, I took some time to enjoy one last “tourist attraction” of the forest, Looking Glass Rock.
Looking Glass Rock
I traveled light and fast on the trail to the top of Looking Glass Rock, not carrying any food or water, just a camera. That was stupid. I got thirsty. The terminus of the trail was a large rock wall that you stood atop and simply gazed in wonderment across the valley floor, but that was about it. There wasn’t too much else to witness during the 6 mile round trip hike, just a helipad.
Anyway, I hastily made my way back to my truck, because, fuck, I was thirsty.
Water.
Ignition.
Gas pedal.
Fort Gordon.
Get Riding!
A mere 5 days have elapsed since my last excursion to Pisgah, my wilderness sanctuary, so this post may seem redundant. Although my absence from the forest was short it felt like I had been gone for a year. The hustle and bustle of the big city was beginning to wear on me and I knew it was time to once again escape to the mountains of western North Carolina. As usual it was just me, my Tacoma, my Giant Trance 3, and 100 of my favorite CDs.
Well, 99 of my favorite CDs. Somehow an album by the rapper 50 cent had snuck its way into my CD wallet. I say it was the aliens.
A few lonely hours into my journey I made a vital pit stop in Travelers Rest, S.C. a rather small community situated just north of Greenville, S.C. on State Route 25. I say vital, because Travelers Rest, S.C. is the home of Sunrift Outfitters, a truly kick ass outdoor store.
Let me get in some props…
Encased in silvery tin and plastered with stickers, Sunrift offers up to kayakers, canoeists, climbers, backpackers, hikers, and mountain bikers alike. I’ll be blunt, the bike shop area is the weakest section of the shop and the strongest is most likely the kayak/canoe area. The staff of employee’s collective attitude seems to equal nothing less than a good time and I recommend that if you’re in Travelers Rest you drop in on the shop and take a look around. I would also tell you where the shop is located, but I don’t know…I just turn right at a random stoplight in town.
Yee haw! Onward Tacoma!
To Pisgah we arrive.
I entered the forest through the main entrance on State Route 276 and began searching for an open campsite on Yellow Gap (YG) Road. After a long drive down the bumpy gravel thoroughfare I discovered that the only campsite on the road that was open for business was YG 7 or the site closest to the Laurel Mountain Trailhead. The site also happened to be trashed through and through as if a hurricane of a redneck college frat party had just blown through the area.
Rather inconvenient.
It seemed the redneck population had been enforcing their “infliction of environmental damage” rule. (Please reference “Pisgah National Forest – May 13th and 14th”).
I spent two hours amassing a mountain of garbage in the back of my truck and ferrying it to a dumpster in the forest education center. Everything from baby diapers, full beer cans, condoms, food, Coleman fuel canisters, plastic 5 gallon buckets, and old pizza made it into the bed of my truck. For my efforts the forest ranger at the forest education center awarded me two free passes to the education center which I will probably never use.
Awesome.
South Mills River Tour – Bradley Creek Trail/South Mills River Trail/Forest Service Road (FSR) 476
This is the South Mills River Tour according to the mountain bike guide book OFF THE BEATEN TRACK written by Jim Parham. Start by riding south on Bradley Creek Trail from YG Road and after five miles turn left, or west, onto South Mills River Trail. South Mills River Trail will then follow the Mills River for 13 miles before turning into FSR 476. Continue the ride on FSR 476 until you reach YG Road. Turn right, or east, onto YG Road and ride until you have completed the loop at the Bradley Creek Trailhead. The total mileage for this ride was 23.9 miles and the estimated riding time was four to five hours.
I actually planned to begin the ride in the Pink Beds by riding the Pink Beds Trail to FSR 476 and then riding Jim Parham’s route backwards until I reached the Pink Beds Trail again, which I would ride back to my parked truck. Too easy.
My litter pick-up project kept me out of the saddle until about 1400. I parked my Tacoma in the Pink Beds parking lot and started my ride on the Pink Beds Trail as planned. I wasn’t really sure whether the Pink Beds Trail was seasonal or not, but it was a sweet warm-up ride that had some relaxing flow to it. I passed an old gauging station, swerved a motor vehicles gate, and was soon pedaling beside the South Mills River. South Mills River Trail was double track, soggy, slow, and covered in warm horseshit.
Not exactly impressive.
Not long after rolling tire onto the trail I began a long steady ascent away from the river, which was a surprise, because my Pisgah Trail map didn’t depict the trail moving away from the river at all. After about 30 minutes of climbing the trail forked and I found myself at a crucial decision point. Should I continue following the double track I was on and drop down the other side of the ridge I had just climbed, or make a left onto a rather unused looking piece of single track that disappeared into a mass of rhododendron? I retrieved my map from my Camelbak and sat down to think.
The red dotted line that depicted South Mills River Trail on my map never appeared to leave Mills River, much less climb a ridge to the south of the river and drop over the other side of said ridge headed in the direction of Black Mountain Trail which is in another area of the forest. Black Mountain Trail was reserved for tomorrow, Sunday. The idea of riding the single track off to the left was growing on me, because I have a strong dislike for double track, but there seemed to be too much vegetation growing on it to deem it worthy of a ride-worthy trail.
What the fuck.
I chose to go left.
The rhododendron choked the unmarked trail so tightly that I had trouble seeing the trail with my two eyes. All I could do was simply follow the narrow gap in the flora in front of my face. I feared that an aggressive rhododendron tentacle would reach out and ruin my day by destroying my rear derailleur, so I let my right leg hang loose for some added protection. I’m guessing it had been years since a human had touched this trail. Thankfully, the foliage started to thin out and I found myself on top of a washed out downhill section. The downhill section appeared to drop off of the ridge towards what I assumed was south. I had hoped that the trail would take me on a northerly route and return me to Mills River. I was on my way to becoming lost.
Bogus.
The downhill was gnarly, littered with loose rocks, log drops, and deep pockets of dead leaves. Those factors, coupled with my forgetfulness to apply my brakes, made for a pretty wicked descent.
Decision point number two.
The downhill plopped me out on a piece of double track similar to that which I had previously ascended. I was certain I could hear the river once again, but I couldn’t see it. The double track went left, seemingly back from the general direction in which I had just come and to the right the trail began climbing again. I was not really sure what to do at this point, so, I sat down and started eating some crackers.
I went right. An endlessly boring railroad grade climb reminiscent of Props Run, WV ensued. That is, if you rode up Props Run.
Then it started to rain.
Fuck.
The rain started to fall harder.
Fuck again.
I pulled up under a stout pine tree to give the storm some time to simmer down. I was wet and somewhat lost.
Rather inconvenient.
I’d rather be here than in Afghanistan…I think.
The rain didn’t seem content with slacking off so I sucked things up and started riding again. I continued climbing for approximately 45 minutes when I came to decision point number 3.
Right or Left? Both options were a continuation of ascending double track. I chose right.
I rode on for about 3 minutes before I found myself in a very familiar place. The word “fuck” flowed continuously from my white boy mouth. I was once again at the first decision point, the head of the overgrown single track. I’ll be the first to admit I felt like a jackass, but nothing made any sense. I wasn’t sure how I could ride in a circle while riding away from decision point number one for over an hour.
Fuck this shit. I have no idea what happened…did I pass out? Did aliens abduct me? Where am I? Tail tucked I headed back to the truck.
Quitter.
When I returned to the Pink Beds Picnic Area I briefly paused at the public restroom facility to gently wash the warm horseshit from my face, arms, and legs. I had actually come across a group of equestrians on my ride back to the parking lot and courteously yielded to their tamed stallions while silently screaming profanities in my head.
Mount Pisgah
My body eventually attained a somewhat clean condition and I exited the restroom facility into a drizzling rain. I climbed into my Tacoma and decided I would take a dreary hike up Mount Pisgah, something I had never done. I slowly guided the Tacoma up and up and up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and arrived at the Mount Pisgah Trailhead shortly after passing the Pisgah Inn. In the trailhead parking lot sat two other vehicles. The first was an older looking gray Mercedes Benz with Ohio plates and the second was a grayish blue serial killer type van from Bumfuck, U.S.A. with interesting symbols such as “anarchy”, “69”, and “Hurley” hand painted on its side.
What the piss is that all about?
I slipped into my GO-LITE windbreaker to fend off the wind and rain and began my ascent. Shortly after starting up the trail I passed an odd looking woman hiking in the opposite direction who did not respond when I said hello. I say she was odd looking, because she resembled one of those steroid abusing German female Olympic swimmers.
The steroids had not treated her very well.
Closer to the top I caught up with a friendly young couple also ascending. In our brief greeting they mentioned that they were from Ohio. Ah…the Mercedes indeed. I left the Ohioans behind and crested Mount Pisgah on my lonesome.
I hadn’t been standing on the Mount Pisgah observation deck long before the Ohio couple joined me. From our perch at 5,721 feet above sea level, we had quite a commanding 360 degree view of the surrounding area regardless of the drizzled grayness precipitating from the sky.
Ominous black rain clouds to the northwest contrasted with azure skies while the sun slowly set in the west beaming defined rays of light through the fringes of the dark cloud cover bathing the vast valley floor in a golden glow. As the sun continued to dip behind the horizon the cloud lining was blazed with a soft yellow hue comparable to that of struck match. The mountains turned dark blue and the wind began to pick up as the storm continued to make its attack on the land.
It really rocked. I have pictures.
The sweat that previously escaped my pores on the ascent now chilled my body as the storm driven gusts from the west ripped around Mount Pisgah. I bailed with the Ohio couple and we discussed life topics such as the Army, mountain biking, and the drive down from Ohio.
Somehow we made it to the parking lot without attracting a single rain drop. I allowed the Ohio couple a glimpse at my smorgasbord of Pisgah maps so that they could continue to enjoy the forest’s treasures, but I’m not sure anything would be very exciting in the rain. We parted ways and I headed for YG Road.
The serial killer van was still parked in the lot.
The rain poured as I drove back down the mountain. When I finally made it back to my campsite, I somehow built a fire during a slight break in the rain under the impression that I would use it to cook dinner. The rain had different plans though, increasing its downpour to effectively penetrate the thick forest canopy and dampen my fire. I was forced to transfer my hunger pangs from pasta to pop tarts.
I fell asleep to the incessant beat of di-hydrogen monoxide against the rain fly of my tent.
Sunday May 21st, 2006 – 0700
Take a moment to imagine the processes I go through as I wake up, eat breakfast, and tear down camp. Done? Good.
Cradle of Forestry Area – Club Gap Trail/Black Mountain Trail/Thrift Cove Trail/Avery Creek Road/Avery Creek Trail
While the rain trapped me in my tent the previous night I took the time to plot what I hoped would be a kick ass ride in the Cradle of Forestry Area. With my reliable headlamp shining I pored over my maps and guidebooks coming up with the following route.
I would park my truck on FSR 477 at the Club Gap Trailhead. Next, I would climb Club Gap Trailhead to a 4-way trail junction with Buckwheat Knob Trail, Avery Creek Trail, and Black Mountain Trail. Then, I would turn northish onto Black Mountain Trail and ride it until its junction with Thrift Cove Trail above the Pisgah Ranger Station. I would ride the length of Thrift Cove Trail to State Route 276 and turn right, or westish. State Route 276 would be followed a short distance to Avery Creek Road where I would make a right hand turn. I would then be forced to ride the gravel road until I was north of the forest’s riding stables where I would find the Avery Creek Trailhead. I would ride Avery Creek Trail until I reached the aforementioned 4-way trail junction. Finally, I would descend on Club Gap Trail and return to my truck.
That was my plan and I was sticking to it.
Club Gap Trail was a grunt of a climb and I was feeling it in my lungs when I reached the 4-way trail junction. I continued gradually climbing on Black Mountain Trail which eventually mellowed out and then dropped to the Buckhorn Gap Hiking Shelter. The drop to the shelter was pretty laid back, but ended with a technically tricky massive set of log stairs. After you clean the stairs you have to cross a grassy Clawhammer Road to continue riding Black Mountain Trail. The trail naturally picks up again on the other side of the road, but not without a trail marker that declares this section of the trail “most difficult”, essentially a double black diamond.
Things turned black diamond on my ass for certain.
The climb away from Clawhammer Road was extremely technical with numerous tight ass switch backs containing small log steps. Needless to say, I hiked the Trance often. This rugged ascent paved the way to extremely narrow ridge top riding that included some killer cliff top overlooks and other interesting natural features. The “oh so” narrow ridge top trail continued for a few miles along the top of Black Mountain before beginning a long, dry, and loose descent to the junction with Thrift Cove Trail. Thrift Cove Trail only added to the radness of the descent, because it was super fast with gnarly bank turns and launchable water breaks that I lunched on. Wicked yo.
The compiled downhill was endless, but it did end didn’t it? I wouldn’t be sitting here typing this if it hadn’t ended. Or would I? ANYWAY.
I rocketed onto paved road in front of the Ranger station and pedaled the expected short distance on State Route 276 before making the turn onto Avery Creek Road. As previously stated, the riding stables are located on Avery Creek Road. I now know that the entire road does smell like horseshit.
Once I was past the unpleasant equestrian aroma factory I rolled onto Avery Creek Trail entering a lush jungle of rhododendron. The trail was extremely wet and loamy and I imagine that it is perpetually in this state. As I pedaled onward through the slog I came across a surprising amount of day hikers on the trail. It was good to see fellow members of society getting out and exercising while enjoying the outdoors. There was even a crew of Mexican dudes with slicked back hair, baggy denim shorts, and wife beaters wandering around on the trail. Black snake here, gushing waterfall there, check it out sometime if you have a moment. It certainly was a pretty trail.
Then trouble came along.
Equestrians. They were coming down the trail as I was ascending. I politely dismounted my own aluminum horse and watched them pass as I considered the fact that Avery Creek Trail is hiking/biking exclusive. That’s all I’m saying.
I continued to huff and puff my way up to the 4-way intersection and was finally rewarded with the downhill on Club Gap Trail closing out another epic ride. I definitely recommend Black Mountain Trail to you fellow mountain bikers out there as well as the other trails included in the route. Also, try to fit in Buckwheat Knob Trail so you can tell me about it, as I haven’t ridden it yet.
My riding mission was accomplished for the day, so, I took some time to enjoy one last “tourist attraction” of the forest, Looking Glass Rock.
Looking Glass Rock
I traveled light and fast on the trail to the top of Looking Glass Rock, not carrying any food or water, just a camera. That was stupid. I got thirsty. The terminus of the trail was a large rock wall that you stood atop and simply gazed in wonderment across the valley floor, but that was about it. There wasn’t too much else to witness during the 6 mile round trip hike, just a helipad.
Anyway, I hastily made my way back to my truck, because, fuck, I was thirsty.
Water.
Ignition.
Gas pedal.
Fort Gordon.
Get Riding!
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