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!