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!
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