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.
Monday, July 31, 2006
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!
Rides: Range Road...Almost
On Fort Gordon we have a great road ride known as Range Road. It's called Range Road, because that's the name of the road...obviously.
Zach and I wanted to do two laps for a grand total of 40 miles. Unfortunately, we never set tire on the hilly route, because we only made it as far as two miles from our barracks before calling the ride due to inclement weather. It was raining when we started the ride, but the lightning just kept getting closer and closer and closer. We hid out in a wooden hunting/fishing related booth for a few minutes before making the decision to cancel.
I guess we'll just have to ride harder tomorrow...
P.S. I would like to slip this non riding related topic into things simply to save others a few dollars...
A brief movie review:
Nacho Libre - sorry folks this isn't Napoleon Dynamite and Jack Black, as much as I love him, is just out of place. Spice up your life by going bowling instead of catching this movie.
Pirates of the Caribbean Dead Man's Chest - well, anyway, Johnny Depp is a funny guy and a great actor, but this movie sucks! I'd take my peg leg off and beat myself to death with it before watching this flick again.
Clerks 2 - ok, the first 2/3's were a little dry. Some long dialogues. Of course, Jay and Silent Bob provide comic relief and the ending turned out to be quite hilarious. Rent this bitch when it comes out or catch it in the 99 cent theater.
Zach and I wanted to do two laps for a grand total of 40 miles. Unfortunately, we never set tire on the hilly route, because we only made it as far as two miles from our barracks before calling the ride due to inclement weather. It was raining when we started the ride, but the lightning just kept getting closer and closer and closer. We hid out in a wooden hunting/fishing related booth for a few minutes before making the decision to cancel.
I guess we'll just have to ride harder tomorrow...
P.S. I would like to slip this non riding related topic into things simply to save others a few dollars...
A brief movie review:
Nacho Libre - sorry folks this isn't Napoleon Dynamite and Jack Black, as much as I love him, is just out of place. Spice up your life by going bowling instead of catching this movie.
Pirates of the Caribbean Dead Man's Chest - well, anyway, Johnny Depp is a funny guy and a great actor, but this movie sucks! I'd take my peg leg off and beat myself to death with it before watching this flick again.
Clerks 2 - ok, the first 2/3's were a little dry. Some long dialogues. Of course, Jay and Silent Bob provide comic relief and the ending turned out to be quite hilarious. Rent this bitch when it comes out or catch it in the 99 cent theater.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Rides: FATS
Well, here we are again at the FATS.
South Carolina's most popular.
Today's ride consisted of the Brown Wave and Skinny Trails and we rode for about two hours. Dude, it was wicked hot again today.
Some dude in the parking lot recommended toTsali us. I still haven't been there and if I wasn't working NIGHTS I might take a DAY trip up there to ride my tail off.
South Carolina's most popular.
Today's ride consisted of the Brown Wave and Skinny Trails and we rode for about two hours. Dude, it was wicked hot again today.
Some dude in the parking lot recommended toTsali us. I still haven't been there and if I wasn't working NIGHTS I might take a DAY trip up there to ride my tail off.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Nonsense: What Ride?
Yeah, so, anyway. I didn't get to ride today, special thanks to Uncle Sam, who graciously held me prisoner on a 24 hour duty. I guess I'll just think about riding on Friday.
Get Riding!
Get Riding!
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Rides: FATS
FATS stands for Forks Area Trail System. FATS is located off of the first South Carolina exit on Highway 20. If you want better directions get outta my face and go down to the Bike Warehouse.
I got Zach to tag along for his first trail experience. I let him borrow my Trance and I stuck with my Monocog. Single speed is pretty much the shit anyway. We took things pretty easy and rode the Great Wall Trail. In the stifling Georgia humidity the sweat just kept going and going.
Whew!
It only took about an hour and 15 minutes to knock the ride out, but Zach said he was pretty spent. He said it was more fun than road riding for sure.
Peace out fatty FATS...
I got Zach to tag along for his first trail experience. I let him borrow my Trance and I stuck with my Monocog. Single speed is pretty much the shit anyway. We took things pretty easy and rode the Great Wall Trail. In the stifling Georgia humidity the sweat just kept going and going.
Whew!
It only took about an hour and 15 minutes to knock the ride out, but Zach said he was pretty spent. He said it was more fun than road riding for sure.
Peace out fatty FATS...
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Nonsense: AJBW Group Road Ride
Let's start it up...
I have decided to start publishing more informal posts about my day to day riding activities to help make my bloggah more dynamic for you, the reader. This is not the only wonderful debut of the day, but the second. The first was Zach Jaenisch making his debut into the riding world today at Andy Jordan's group road ride.
Zach is currently riding a Specialized roadie that is older than me, well, it's actually a '92, but it's turquoise and it makes his back hurt.
We started things off on Broad Street, as usual, and made our way into South Carolina to ride Silver Bluff Road. At the halfway point I checked up on Zach. He was enjoying himself and enjoying the physical exercise.
We rode back in on Church Road and got in some killer pulls above 27 mph. 28 miles total. Keep on rockin’ me baby.
I have decided to start publishing more informal posts about my day to day riding activities to help make my bloggah more dynamic for you, the reader. This is not the only wonderful debut of the day, but the second. The first was Zach Jaenisch making his debut into the riding world today at Andy Jordan's group road ride.
Zach is currently riding a Specialized roadie that is older than me, well, it's actually a '92, but it's turquoise and it makes his back hurt.
We started things off on Broad Street, as usual, and made our way into South Carolina to ride Silver Bluff Road. At the halfway point I checked up on Zach. He was enjoying himself and enjoying the physical exercise.
We rode back in on Church Road and got in some killer pulls above 27 mph. 28 miles total. Keep on rockin’ me baby.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Journeys: Pisgah National Forest (May 13th and 14th)
Saturday May 13th, 2006 – 0600
I slowly awoke in my barracks room to find an odd mixture of sleep and excitement pumping through my veins, a feeling that is comparable to Christmas morning. I cracked a sheepish grin, realizing for the hundredth time that I was no longer in Afghanistan, but in the United States. It was time to embark on an epic mountain biking adventure. I groggily loaded my camping gear and my Giant Trance 3 into my Tacoma and departed Fort Gordon bound for Pisgah National Forest.
Have I introduced you to my friend Pisgah?
Pisgah National Forest is located in western North Carolina just east of Brevard. With over something like a half a million acres of land, Pisgah is not only a beautiful forest, but is a figurative Mecca for mountain biking in the southeast. Described by other riders as sweet, wicked, and rad, the forest kindles that little spark in one's eye that burns the fire of desire for some epic mountain biking. Pisgah is definitely the place to get it done. Fortunately for me Pisgah is only about 4 hours driving from Fort Gordon and makes for an easy weekend trip of riding and camping.
On Friday night prior to my departure I called on Steve, who was at home in WV, to discuss what trails I should ride during my weekend adventure. The route we plotted over the phone was lovingly dubbed “Mega Death”. I would ride Mega Death on Saturday leaving Sunday to my own riding whims.
Mega Death – Fletcher Creek Area/Big Creek Trail/Laurel Mountain Trail
The planned ride began with Trace Ridge Trail in the Fletcher Creek Area. Steve said that Trace Ridge Trail would be an easy climb. At Trace Ridge’s junction with Spencer Gap Trail I would turn left and ride a downhill section. Next, I would turn right off of Spencer Gap Trail onto Middle Fork Trail. Steve also noted that Middle Fork Trail would be an easy climb. After completing the Middle Fork Trail climb I would turn right onto Fletcher Creek Trail to ride a second downhill section. At the bottom of Fletcher Creek Trail I would turn right onto Big Creek Trail and exit the Fletcher Creek Area to the west. Steve told me that he had never ridden Big Creek Trail so, he couldn’t tell me what to expect, except that riding the trail was necessary for completion of Mega Death. After riding Big Creek Trail I would turn left onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and ride it a short distance to Laurel Mountain Trail. I would make another left and ride Laurel Mountain Trail to Yellow Gap (YG) Road. At this point I would have to base the rest of the ride off of where my campsite was located within the forest. After Laurel Mountain Trail it seemed most likely that the loop would be completed by riding forest service roads.
Approximated ride distance was 30 miles.
Estimated riding time was unknown.
Level of pre-ride stokedness was extreme.
I knocked out the dull 4 hour drive to Pisgah and entered the forest through the North Mills River Area which is located on the eastern boundary of the forest. I immediately began hunting for an open campsite on YG Road. To my dismay I discovered every camp site on YG Road had already been claimed by bands of beer toting, loud mouthed, obnoxious individuals most commonly referred to as rednecks. Their rusted out beater pick up trucks and cars lined the gravel road along with their trash which also colorfully decorated each camp site.
What the fuck?
Please standby while I vomit.
There is a common camping rule practiced by outdoorsman known as “leave no trace”. The title, obviously, speaks for itself. These rednecked individuals seemed to have given birth to their own outdoor rule known as “inflict as much environmental damage as possible in a given 48 hour window of opportunity”.
Assholes.
Enough.
I flipped a bitch on YG Road and backtracked to Forest Service Road (FSR) 5000 and the Trace Ridge Trailhead. As I eased my Tacoma up FSR 5000 I watched stone faced as half naked, barefoot children chased each other with sticks while toothless mothers looked on, Bud Light in hand. I could only guess that the fathers were either smoking up, fishing, drunk, or all three at the same time.
To each his own.
Despite all my negativity towards my redneck brethren who were disgracefully polluting my sanctuary, a shining ray of hope eventually did gleam down from the heavens above in the form of an unoccupied campsite. The site just happened to be the closest campsite to the Trace Ridge Trailhead, no more than a mere 100 meters away. Besides being cluttered by numerous Slim Jim and fruit snack wrappers, the site would prove to be perfect for the weekend.
In the blink of an eye my tent was standing.
Another blink and I was dressed for riding.
I threw one leg over my saddle and like that…I was gone.
And like that…I was standing on the side of Trace Ridge Trail with my rear derailleur eating spoke. It all started when a loose coconut sized rock jumped up from the trail and bit my rear derailleur. I was 30 minutes into my ride and was already suffering what appeared to be a catastrophic mechanical. One spoke had been halved, the rear derailleur hangar was bent, and the rear derailleur itself looked as fried as Dave Chappell in Half Baked. I loosened the rear derailleur shifting cable and started working the hangar. It bent outward away from the wheel somewhat which meant it was probably quite weak and ready to shear at any moment, but it would have to do. I had freed the rear derailleur from the gnarred spoke, but something still looked odd about it.
That’s when a pistol packing, over the hill, white couple rolled up on me riding low-end Treks. I raised an eyebrow at their heat packing tendencies and they gladly informed me that the .22 caliber pistols strapped to their waists were for use against “dangerous wildlife” in the case of an emergency.
Could rednecks be considered “dangerous wildlife”?
The heat packers were friendly enough and I thought it was cool that they were riding, but back to the rear derailleur.
The arm of the rear derailleur had been forced past its stopping post and I was forced to force it forward again so that it once again appeared to be in its natural state. I felt like I was making ground mechanically so I sent the concerned heat couple packing and reattached my rear shifting cable. At this point I ran into a problem when I couldn’t get the Trance to shift into any of its higher gears. In fact, I could only get the bike to shift through the first 3 gears on the cassette.
Basically, I was fucked up and I was also incapable of fixing my fucked upness.
Fuck it. Who needs the big gears in Pisgah anyway? Fortunately, this lone incident would be my only mechanical malfunction for the entire weekend. The Trance was a survivor.
With my bike back in one piece I finished the easy climb up Trace Ridge Trail and made the preplanned left dropping off of the face of the Earth into a black hole known as Spencer Gap Trail.
It was wicked.
First, you drop off of Trace Ridge Trail over an ungodly number of 1 to 3 foot tall log steps that eventually level out slingshotting you into the biggest bank turn of your life. Well, maybe not YOUR life, but mine at the time. As you rocket off of the biggest bank turn of MY life you nail a few small drops before locking up the brakes to shoot the shit with some random downhill rider name Ryan who is prepping himself for an upcoming NORBA event at Sugar Mountain, N.C.
Ryan was a cool dude and referred my limp rear derailleur to a guy named Matt at Bio Wheels bike shop in Asheville, N.C. somewhere in the vicinity of a 30 minute drive away. Ryan gave me some good info, but I assured him I could nurse my drive train through the rest of the day. Then it was, “Peace out Ryan”.
Spencer Gap Trail really mellowed out shortly afterwards and I rode it all the way to Big Creek Trail.
Shit.
That was too far.
I was required to back track about one half mile to locate the beginnings of Middle Fork Trail. It was actually hard to find, because the trail marker was set a good piece down the trail. Once found, though, I began my steady climb up Middle Fork Trail to the top of Fletcher Creek Trail.
While I paused at the top of Fletcher Creek Trail to munch on some Chex Mix I encountered a trio of riders that included a dad, his daughter, and his daughter’s boyfriend. The dad’s legs were free of hair, gleamed with experience, and screamed roadie, but, surprisingly, he related some sweet stories of throwing down mad riding at past 24 hour races at Canaan Valley and Snowshoe. The dad was a pretty rad dude, but the other two children were completely clueless. After that social extravaganza was complete I hammered my way down Fletcher Creek Trail, made the right onto Big Creek Trail and delved into new territory.
Big Creek Trail, more appropriately named "Big Bitch Trail" in my mind, started off relatively flat and enjoyable, but after about the 5th hike-a-bike creek crossing I was cringing. I also soon found myself staring open mouthed towards the sky, trying to trace the ascending trail with my eyes as it jumped off the valley floor and straight up the side of an unspecified mountain.
Fuck it, gotta get it done.
Not long into granny gear I was sucking wind when another rider came barreling downhill on me forcing me to quickly jumped out of the way. Homegrown stopped briefly and I explained Mega Death to him. He gave me an odd look, shook his head slightly, and informed me that it was going to be quite a haul to climb up Big Creek Trail to the Parkway.
Hater.
90 minutes later it was over. I was cursing Steve, I was cursing the trail, and I was cursing my tired legs. Big Creek Trail is just not one of those trails that you ride up. Not that I rode the entire thing. I’ll give myself credit for riding approximately 70 percent of the trail even if that 70 percent was the accumulation of many quick bursts of pedaling followed by extended periods of rest.
Ah, hell.
Big Creek Trail unmercifully shit me onto the Blue Ridge Parkway where I turned left, as planned, and began steadily cranking my way towards Buck Spring Gap, Pisgah Inn, and Laurel Mountain Trail.
The view from Buck Spring Gap overlook was quite the reward for all my hard work. The expanse of the forest lay in front of me to the south and Mount Pisgah stood proudly erect behind me to the north. I took a moment to refill my gas tank and look over my trail map. It appeared that I’d knocked down a solid half of the ride, but still had to ride down Laurel Mountain Trail as well as ride a significant amount of forest service road to complete the loop to my campsite near the Trace Ridge Trailhead. Laurel Mountain Trail was familiar territory to me and I was stoked to finally have the opportunity to ride down the trail opposed to the normal route I took that involved riding up the trail.
The upper portion of the trail, close to the Parkway, was extremely rocky and technical and I had trouble maintaining momentum. Needless to say, I dabbed frequently. The rocky pummeling was short though and I finally dropped onto hard packed dirt single track. The riding was superb and fast, but I did eventually run into trouble on an extremely steep rooty downhill section.
On my initial ride of this pitch I endoed over a large root about 20 feet in. Of course my body weight was entirely too far forward. I got up from my bail and reassessed. My second attempt was, surprisingly, a duplicate of the first; even though I was under the impression I had properly adjusted my body weight towards the rear of the bike. I was wrong. It took literally sitting my ass on my rear tire to clean the endo root and was finally able to wind my way down the rest of the downhill section.
The last miles of Laurel Mountain Trail were smooth and fast and I ripped my way back to YG Road. To return to my campsite on FSR 5000 I had to turn left off of Laurel Mountain Trail and ride on YG Road to the North Mills River Campground and then turn left onto FSR 5000. After 6 boring miles of gravel road I rolled into camp in a near bonk state of consciousness as the sun dipped behind the horizon, drastically lengthening the shadows of the forest around me. It was at that moment that I remembered I was no longer immersed in civilization and that when the sun set here in the forest it would be dark.
Dark, dark.
The seven hour Mega Death ride had left a calorie deficit in my body that spurred growls from the monster within. I proceeded to concoct the runniest pasta I have ever seen and even took the opportunity to wear some of the noodles down the front of my sweatshirt. Sucked.
Fuck it.
I policed up my dinner area and stowed my gear for the night. The fire dulled and night settled in. I peacefully sat on my cooler and listened to two whippoorwills talk about their day. Their somewhat annoying calls were actually a welcome change from the constant aircraft activity and explosions associated with Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan. It felt good to be one with nature again. My ThermaRest was calling my name from within the tent.
Sleep came easy.
Sunday May 14th, 2006 - 0900
Yes, I slept in until 0900. Waking up in the forest is awesome. You feel refreshed by the cool morning mountain air that sets in during the night. I was stoked to ride, but my legs weren’t. In fact, they were well done. Burnt, toasted, or smoked. Whatever term your heart desires. My riding outlook for the day was looking slim.
Lucky Charms are the shit.
As I tore down my campsite and loaded my gear into my Tacoma, I decided that I would ride a small single track loop off of YG Road named Pilot Cove Loop. The ride would be short and sweet and centered on Slate Rock, a magnificent rock wall in Pilot Cove.
Pilot Cove Loop
I had ridden the Pilot Cove Loop in the summer of 2005 so, there were no surprises. If you ride the loop clockwise you climb for 3 miles and then drop for 3 miles. If you ride the loop counter clockwise you ascend for 3 miles and then descend for 3 miles. Tricky right?
I rode the trail clockwise. The 3 mile ascent was not insanely steep, just steady, but my legs were exhausted and I had trouble handling the climb even in granny gear. I was forced, at times, to walk. I looked forward to being in better riding shape so I could more effectively annihilate climbs like this one.
Slate Rock was about one third of the way into the descent and made for a nice break from the riding action. As I lay on the edge of the world in a somewhat catatonic state I enjoyed a pack of grilled cheese flavored crackers that tasted like ass and let the mountain wind sweep across me. After recuperating I quickly descended back to my truck via many short and sweet ass switch backs.
Short and sweet…maybe too short, but it was all I could handle for the day.
Pisgah's Treasures
I took a relaxing stroll of a drive out YG Road until it terminated at route 276. Turning south I decided to explore some of the “tourist” attractions of the Pisgah. Although I had visited Pisgah a handful of times in the summer of 2005 I had done little else than ride and camp. I had always entered and exited the forest through the North Mills River Area in an attempt to avoid crowds of visiting city folk who desired a good picnic. I soon discovered that I had been robbing myself of Pisgah’s natural treasures.
The first “attraction” I came to was the Pink Beds, which actually sucked as an attraction, because it was simply a picnic area, but it had a public restroom facility with running water.
Mental note made.
A little further down the road I came upon Looking Glass Falls. Wicked. Waterfalls are kick ass and this one was no different.
It was intense.
Water spilled over the lip falling about 60 feet into a deep black pool of water. A large slab of rock also hung just above and to the right of the falls like a great wing of protection. I ran down the wooden steps from the road towards the base of the falls like a kid in a candy store. Without stopping I plunged in the creek and began wading.
As soon as my feet had touched the water I could feel the spray of the falls, feel its roar. A hesitant redneck congregation looked on as a skinny white boy with a faux Mohawk traveled further off of the observation deck than they had ever dared. The falls were like an un-caged beast. I basked in its glory. Inching my way around to the right side of the waterfall, the world felt like it was in a perpetual earthquake once I neared to within feet of the base of the giant. The thunder of the falls was deafening, yet exotic and refreshing.
The rednecks just stared.
I ended my ramble to the waterfall and lit off for the next attraction. I decided I didn’t have time for Looking Glass Rock, so, I proceeded to Slick Rock. Slick Rock is basically Mother Nature’s slip and slide.
You know, that blue piece of plastic with the sprinkler…you slide down it.
After following a small paved foot path down stream from the parking lot you come to base of about 50 feet of draft bed rock. The slab lies at maybe a 35 degree angle and has steps built up the left side.
It’s simple. Sit on your ass and slide. I didn’t have water oriented clothes on at the time so; I merely looked on as others enjoyed the attraction.
I was the jackass redneck.
I spent the next 4 hours in a state of blissful reflection as I rolled home to Augusta.
This concludes my first epic riding adventure since my return to the United States of America from Afghanistan. All in all it kicked a whole lot of ass and I couldn’t wait to do it again.
Get Riding!
I slowly awoke in my barracks room to find an odd mixture of sleep and excitement pumping through my veins, a feeling that is comparable to Christmas morning. I cracked a sheepish grin, realizing for the hundredth time that I was no longer in Afghanistan, but in the United States. It was time to embark on an epic mountain biking adventure. I groggily loaded my camping gear and my Giant Trance 3 into my Tacoma and departed Fort Gordon bound for Pisgah National Forest.
Have I introduced you to my friend Pisgah?
Pisgah National Forest is located in western North Carolina just east of Brevard. With over something like a half a million acres of land, Pisgah is not only a beautiful forest, but is a figurative Mecca for mountain biking in the southeast. Described by other riders as sweet, wicked, and rad, the forest kindles that little spark in one's eye that burns the fire of desire for some epic mountain biking. Pisgah is definitely the place to get it done. Fortunately for me Pisgah is only about 4 hours driving from Fort Gordon and makes for an easy weekend trip of riding and camping.
On Friday night prior to my departure I called on Steve, who was at home in WV, to discuss what trails I should ride during my weekend adventure. The route we plotted over the phone was lovingly dubbed “Mega Death”. I would ride Mega Death on Saturday leaving Sunday to my own riding whims.
Mega Death – Fletcher Creek Area/Big Creek Trail/Laurel Mountain Trail
The planned ride began with Trace Ridge Trail in the Fletcher Creek Area. Steve said that Trace Ridge Trail would be an easy climb. At Trace Ridge’s junction with Spencer Gap Trail I would turn left and ride a downhill section. Next, I would turn right off of Spencer Gap Trail onto Middle Fork Trail. Steve also noted that Middle Fork Trail would be an easy climb. After completing the Middle Fork Trail climb I would turn right onto Fletcher Creek Trail to ride a second downhill section. At the bottom of Fletcher Creek Trail I would turn right onto Big Creek Trail and exit the Fletcher Creek Area to the west. Steve told me that he had never ridden Big Creek Trail so, he couldn’t tell me what to expect, except that riding the trail was necessary for completion of Mega Death. After riding Big Creek Trail I would turn left onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and ride it a short distance to Laurel Mountain Trail. I would make another left and ride Laurel Mountain Trail to Yellow Gap (YG) Road. At this point I would have to base the rest of the ride off of where my campsite was located within the forest. After Laurel Mountain Trail it seemed most likely that the loop would be completed by riding forest service roads.
Approximated ride distance was 30 miles.
Estimated riding time was unknown.
Level of pre-ride stokedness was extreme.
I knocked out the dull 4 hour drive to Pisgah and entered the forest through the North Mills River Area which is located on the eastern boundary of the forest. I immediately began hunting for an open campsite on YG Road. To my dismay I discovered every camp site on YG Road had already been claimed by bands of beer toting, loud mouthed, obnoxious individuals most commonly referred to as rednecks. Their rusted out beater pick up trucks and cars lined the gravel road along with their trash which also colorfully decorated each camp site.
What the fuck?
Please standby while I vomit.
There is a common camping rule practiced by outdoorsman known as “leave no trace”. The title, obviously, speaks for itself. These rednecked individuals seemed to have given birth to their own outdoor rule known as “inflict as much environmental damage as possible in a given 48 hour window of opportunity”.
Assholes.
Enough.
I flipped a bitch on YG Road and backtracked to Forest Service Road (FSR) 5000 and the Trace Ridge Trailhead. As I eased my Tacoma up FSR 5000 I watched stone faced as half naked, barefoot children chased each other with sticks while toothless mothers looked on, Bud Light in hand. I could only guess that the fathers were either smoking up, fishing, drunk, or all three at the same time.
To each his own.
Despite all my negativity towards my redneck brethren who were disgracefully polluting my sanctuary, a shining ray of hope eventually did gleam down from the heavens above in the form of an unoccupied campsite. The site just happened to be the closest campsite to the Trace Ridge Trailhead, no more than a mere 100 meters away. Besides being cluttered by numerous Slim Jim and fruit snack wrappers, the site would prove to be perfect for the weekend.
In the blink of an eye my tent was standing.
Another blink and I was dressed for riding.
I threw one leg over my saddle and like that…I was gone.
And like that…I was standing on the side of Trace Ridge Trail with my rear derailleur eating spoke. It all started when a loose coconut sized rock jumped up from the trail and bit my rear derailleur. I was 30 minutes into my ride and was already suffering what appeared to be a catastrophic mechanical. One spoke had been halved, the rear derailleur hangar was bent, and the rear derailleur itself looked as fried as Dave Chappell in Half Baked. I loosened the rear derailleur shifting cable and started working the hangar. It bent outward away from the wheel somewhat which meant it was probably quite weak and ready to shear at any moment, but it would have to do. I had freed the rear derailleur from the gnarred spoke, but something still looked odd about it.
That’s when a pistol packing, over the hill, white couple rolled up on me riding low-end Treks. I raised an eyebrow at their heat packing tendencies and they gladly informed me that the .22 caliber pistols strapped to their waists were for use against “dangerous wildlife” in the case of an emergency.
Could rednecks be considered “dangerous wildlife”?
The heat packers were friendly enough and I thought it was cool that they were riding, but back to the rear derailleur.
The arm of the rear derailleur had been forced past its stopping post and I was forced to force it forward again so that it once again appeared to be in its natural state. I felt like I was making ground mechanically so I sent the concerned heat couple packing and reattached my rear shifting cable. At this point I ran into a problem when I couldn’t get the Trance to shift into any of its higher gears. In fact, I could only get the bike to shift through the first 3 gears on the cassette.
Basically, I was fucked up and I was also incapable of fixing my fucked upness.
Fuck it. Who needs the big gears in Pisgah anyway? Fortunately, this lone incident would be my only mechanical malfunction for the entire weekend. The Trance was a survivor.
With my bike back in one piece I finished the easy climb up Trace Ridge Trail and made the preplanned left dropping off of the face of the Earth into a black hole known as Spencer Gap Trail.
It was wicked.
First, you drop off of Trace Ridge Trail over an ungodly number of 1 to 3 foot tall log steps that eventually level out slingshotting you into the biggest bank turn of your life. Well, maybe not YOUR life, but mine at the time. As you rocket off of the biggest bank turn of MY life you nail a few small drops before locking up the brakes to shoot the shit with some random downhill rider name Ryan who is prepping himself for an upcoming NORBA event at Sugar Mountain, N.C.
Ryan was a cool dude and referred my limp rear derailleur to a guy named Matt at Bio Wheels bike shop in Asheville, N.C. somewhere in the vicinity of a 30 minute drive away. Ryan gave me some good info, but I assured him I could nurse my drive train through the rest of the day. Then it was, “Peace out Ryan”.
Spencer Gap Trail really mellowed out shortly afterwards and I rode it all the way to Big Creek Trail.
Shit.
That was too far.
I was required to back track about one half mile to locate the beginnings of Middle Fork Trail. It was actually hard to find, because the trail marker was set a good piece down the trail. Once found, though, I began my steady climb up Middle Fork Trail to the top of Fletcher Creek Trail.
While I paused at the top of Fletcher Creek Trail to munch on some Chex Mix I encountered a trio of riders that included a dad, his daughter, and his daughter’s boyfriend. The dad’s legs were free of hair, gleamed with experience, and screamed roadie, but, surprisingly, he related some sweet stories of throwing down mad riding at past 24 hour races at Canaan Valley and Snowshoe. The dad was a pretty rad dude, but the other two children were completely clueless. After that social extravaganza was complete I hammered my way down Fletcher Creek Trail, made the right onto Big Creek Trail and delved into new territory.
Big Creek Trail, more appropriately named "Big Bitch Trail" in my mind, started off relatively flat and enjoyable, but after about the 5th hike-a-bike creek crossing I was cringing. I also soon found myself staring open mouthed towards the sky, trying to trace the ascending trail with my eyes as it jumped off the valley floor and straight up the side of an unspecified mountain.
Fuck it, gotta get it done.
Not long into granny gear I was sucking wind when another rider came barreling downhill on me forcing me to quickly jumped out of the way. Homegrown stopped briefly and I explained Mega Death to him. He gave me an odd look, shook his head slightly, and informed me that it was going to be quite a haul to climb up Big Creek Trail to the Parkway.
Hater.
90 minutes later it was over. I was cursing Steve, I was cursing the trail, and I was cursing my tired legs. Big Creek Trail is just not one of those trails that you ride up. Not that I rode the entire thing. I’ll give myself credit for riding approximately 70 percent of the trail even if that 70 percent was the accumulation of many quick bursts of pedaling followed by extended periods of rest.
Ah, hell.
Big Creek Trail unmercifully shit me onto the Blue Ridge Parkway where I turned left, as planned, and began steadily cranking my way towards Buck Spring Gap, Pisgah Inn, and Laurel Mountain Trail.
The view from Buck Spring Gap overlook was quite the reward for all my hard work. The expanse of the forest lay in front of me to the south and Mount Pisgah stood proudly erect behind me to the north. I took a moment to refill my gas tank and look over my trail map. It appeared that I’d knocked down a solid half of the ride, but still had to ride down Laurel Mountain Trail as well as ride a significant amount of forest service road to complete the loop to my campsite near the Trace Ridge Trailhead. Laurel Mountain Trail was familiar territory to me and I was stoked to finally have the opportunity to ride down the trail opposed to the normal route I took that involved riding up the trail.
The upper portion of the trail, close to the Parkway, was extremely rocky and technical and I had trouble maintaining momentum. Needless to say, I dabbed frequently. The rocky pummeling was short though and I finally dropped onto hard packed dirt single track. The riding was superb and fast, but I did eventually run into trouble on an extremely steep rooty downhill section.
On my initial ride of this pitch I endoed over a large root about 20 feet in. Of course my body weight was entirely too far forward. I got up from my bail and reassessed. My second attempt was, surprisingly, a duplicate of the first; even though I was under the impression I had properly adjusted my body weight towards the rear of the bike. I was wrong. It took literally sitting my ass on my rear tire to clean the endo root and was finally able to wind my way down the rest of the downhill section.
The last miles of Laurel Mountain Trail were smooth and fast and I ripped my way back to YG Road. To return to my campsite on FSR 5000 I had to turn left off of Laurel Mountain Trail and ride on YG Road to the North Mills River Campground and then turn left onto FSR 5000. After 6 boring miles of gravel road I rolled into camp in a near bonk state of consciousness as the sun dipped behind the horizon, drastically lengthening the shadows of the forest around me. It was at that moment that I remembered I was no longer immersed in civilization and that when the sun set here in the forest it would be dark.
Dark, dark.
The seven hour Mega Death ride had left a calorie deficit in my body that spurred growls from the monster within. I proceeded to concoct the runniest pasta I have ever seen and even took the opportunity to wear some of the noodles down the front of my sweatshirt. Sucked.
Fuck it.
I policed up my dinner area and stowed my gear for the night. The fire dulled and night settled in. I peacefully sat on my cooler and listened to two whippoorwills talk about their day. Their somewhat annoying calls were actually a welcome change from the constant aircraft activity and explosions associated with Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan. It felt good to be one with nature again. My ThermaRest was calling my name from within the tent.
Sleep came easy.
Sunday May 14th, 2006 - 0900
Yes, I slept in until 0900. Waking up in the forest is awesome. You feel refreshed by the cool morning mountain air that sets in during the night. I was stoked to ride, but my legs weren’t. In fact, they were well done. Burnt, toasted, or smoked. Whatever term your heart desires. My riding outlook for the day was looking slim.
Lucky Charms are the shit.
As I tore down my campsite and loaded my gear into my Tacoma, I decided that I would ride a small single track loop off of YG Road named Pilot Cove Loop. The ride would be short and sweet and centered on Slate Rock, a magnificent rock wall in Pilot Cove.
Pilot Cove Loop
I had ridden the Pilot Cove Loop in the summer of 2005 so, there were no surprises. If you ride the loop clockwise you climb for 3 miles and then drop for 3 miles. If you ride the loop counter clockwise you ascend for 3 miles and then descend for 3 miles. Tricky right?
I rode the trail clockwise. The 3 mile ascent was not insanely steep, just steady, but my legs were exhausted and I had trouble handling the climb even in granny gear. I was forced, at times, to walk. I looked forward to being in better riding shape so I could more effectively annihilate climbs like this one.
Slate Rock was about one third of the way into the descent and made for a nice break from the riding action. As I lay on the edge of the world in a somewhat catatonic state I enjoyed a pack of grilled cheese flavored crackers that tasted like ass and let the mountain wind sweep across me. After recuperating I quickly descended back to my truck via many short and sweet ass switch backs.
Short and sweet…maybe too short, but it was all I could handle for the day.
Pisgah's Treasures
I took a relaxing stroll of a drive out YG Road until it terminated at route 276. Turning south I decided to explore some of the “tourist” attractions of the Pisgah. Although I had visited Pisgah a handful of times in the summer of 2005 I had done little else than ride and camp. I had always entered and exited the forest through the North Mills River Area in an attempt to avoid crowds of visiting city folk who desired a good picnic. I soon discovered that I had been robbing myself of Pisgah’s natural treasures.
The first “attraction” I came to was the Pink Beds, which actually sucked as an attraction, because it was simply a picnic area, but it had a public restroom facility with running water.
Mental note made.
A little further down the road I came upon Looking Glass Falls. Wicked. Waterfalls are kick ass and this one was no different.
It was intense.
Water spilled over the lip falling about 60 feet into a deep black pool of water. A large slab of rock also hung just above and to the right of the falls like a great wing of protection. I ran down the wooden steps from the road towards the base of the falls like a kid in a candy store. Without stopping I plunged in the creek and began wading.
As soon as my feet had touched the water I could feel the spray of the falls, feel its roar. A hesitant redneck congregation looked on as a skinny white boy with a faux Mohawk traveled further off of the observation deck than they had ever dared. The falls were like an un-caged beast. I basked in its glory. Inching my way around to the right side of the waterfall, the world felt like it was in a perpetual earthquake once I neared to within feet of the base of the giant. The thunder of the falls was deafening, yet exotic and refreshing.
The rednecks just stared.
I ended my ramble to the waterfall and lit off for the next attraction. I decided I didn’t have time for Looking Glass Rock, so, I proceeded to Slick Rock. Slick Rock is basically Mother Nature’s slip and slide.
You know, that blue piece of plastic with the sprinkler…you slide down it.
After following a small paved foot path down stream from the parking lot you come to base of about 50 feet of draft bed rock. The slab lies at maybe a 35 degree angle and has steps built up the left side.
It’s simple. Sit on your ass and slide. I didn’t have water oriented clothes on at the time so; I merely looked on as others enjoyed the attraction.
I was the jackass redneck.
I spent the next 4 hours in a state of blissful reflection as I rolled home to Augusta.
This concludes my first epic riding adventure since my return to the United States of America from Afghanistan. All in all it kicked a whole lot of ass and I couldn’t wait to do it again.
Get Riding!
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