Blue Ridge Trail

[Skinny-J]

Day 3: Monday- We woke and had another leisurely breakfast, this time at the Best Western down the street from the Pinehurst. After some slow packing we were finally on the road by 10’. It is actually pretty amazing we were able to cover the distance we did each day considering our late starts, leisurely lunches, multitude of breaks and plethora of incidents. While leaving Covington, I missed a turn and hating U-turns tried to get back on course by taking the very next turn instead. Unfortunately, this led us into a very dense housing development where many of the residents were out and about; I wondered what they thought as 4 dirt bikes rolled down their neighborhood street. Thinking we could get back on course by cutting through the development did not work out as every street only lead to a dead-end or cull-d-sac; I guess I should have believed the GPS when it kept saying to go back out the way we came in; and eventually that is what we had to do to escape the development. Not long after we found our way out of Covington and back onto the BRT. The rest of the morning went more smoothly and the highlight was Bald Mountain Fire Road which had some great views (sorry no pics). It also had some hilly sections with erosion that was nasty enough to get your attention. It was also on this road that I saw 2 wild turkeys and later, a black bear not 20’ off the road who actually raced along side of us before finally turning deeper into the woods. Eventually we popped out on RT 311 just east of Paint Bank. It was a little early for lunch but having been to the Swinging Bridge Restaurant in Paint Bank before; we decided we did not want to pass up the opportunity since the food there is so yummy. For anyone who has been to this place, you are undoubtedly familiar with were all the bikes used to park on the lower side of the building; that was part of the cool thing about the place. However, I had heard that the place was getting so swarmed with Pirates on the weekends that customers couldn’t even get to the gas pumps so they were forced to make the whole lower side no parking. I didn’t want to believe this but sure enough, we had to park up in the upper lot with all the cages; if the Pirates can fuk this up, what’s next? Lunch was delicious as always, even more so being served by our hot waitress Carly who by West Virginia standards was to die for. While we were inside at lunch a little downpour came through making everything outside wet when it was time to get back on the road. Having listened to Sam regal us with stories of him thrashing his Goldwing around while riding with a group of sport bike riders, I though it was time to turn the old-dog loose and let him hunt for a while. Sam and Wingfixer took off back up 311 to get us back on the trail with Paul and I close behind. However, VDOT, in its infinite wisdom, has completely ruined the surface of 311 by “fixing” some cracks with tar snakes which are everywhere. My front tire hit one of these wet tire snakes and slid like 4 feet; well it was probably more like 4 cm’s but after my incident on day 1 my sphincter turned inside out and I backed out of it and watched Sam and WF disappear in front of me, somehow they had magic tires that did not mind the wet tar snakes; else cajones the size of grapefruits. Soon we jumped off 311 onto Tub Run Rd and Sam continued leading and showed us how a little WR250 can boogie; and WF had another slide out which was just common practice at this point. Soon we climbed up onto the ridge of a mountain and I had to stop and do a double check when my GPS said turn right onto the Appalachian Trail. Well we had to do what the GPS said and sure enough, it was the Appalachian Trail complete with a couple of Hikers who were giving us the stink-eye. However, within a short distance, the official hiking trail split off to the left and we continued straight on a 2 track road which would parallel the trail. It was here that we were given our first taste of the mud that was to be the theme for much of the rest of the afternoon. I am still perplexed how gigantic mud holes can be on the TOP of a mountain, the rains this area must of saw prior to our trip must have been torrential as these were some BIG puddles. Here is a pic looking back as the Appalachian Trail (according to my GPS):


Here we are taking a break as the Appalachia trail met another road. We were quite satisfied with our selves have just conquered about 5 miles of tough muddy going; but we had no ideal the worse was yet to come:

[Skinny-J]

Day 3 (continued) We continued on to find more of the same, only in even larger proportions:





After a long afternoon of mud, washed out hills and more mud we eventually ended up just south of Pearisburg looking at the 4 lane divided highway of RT 100. It was probably 5:30ish and a right turn on 100 would have us in Pearisburg for a hot shower and cold beer in about 15 minutes. However, Paul and Pat had told us earlier that tomorrow they had to leave the BRT and head for home so we were contemplating trying to run some more of the route and end up near Wyethville but just didn’t think we had time left in the day. While we were sitting at the intersection looking at maps, we were abruptly informed by a local resident that he was going to do unthinkable things to the mother of another local resident who was articulating back that he would gladly alter the facial make-up of the first resident if he were to just get out of his car. No one in our group exactly knows what caused this gleeful exchange of words at this random intersection, but as it continued on it was quite entertaining to gain insight into the family heritage of the indigenous population. After all the puffery ended and the locals drove on, out attention again turned back to the decision before us. I am not sure what inspired us, maybe it was the love from the locals, maybe it was a voice in our head saying “adventure is THAT way”, or maybe it was when we said “lets just ride down the road a little ways and see what it looks like”; but the decision was unanimous, more of the BRT was on order! Would we come to regret this decision; I think some of us would….

[Bucho]

Bugger! That sounds like a good time.

[Skinny-J]

Day 3 (continued) Having decided to press on we at least stopped for gas at the next gas station as you don’t want to ride off into the great unknown late in the day without a full tank of gas. After a quick fill up and slamming a couple of trail mix bars into our stomachs we headed out to find Dismal Creek Rd. I was a little worried about finding Dismal Creek as it was the first road of significance that did NOT show up as a road in my GPS maps. Instead, we had to rely solely on the track log supplied by the ADV guy. This meant I did not have the GPS auto-routing, telling me where and when to turn to find this road; all I had was a squiggly line on the top of the screen that I had to pick roads which I though would take us closer to the squiggly line. The pressure was un-real; would I be found out as a fraud, that really it was Mr. Garmin who had made the trip so successful up until now? Would I have to turn in my Jr. Park Ranger badge? Would I have to get out my sextant and navigate by the stars if I got us lost this late in the day? Well fortunately, Dismal Creek Rd was easy to find and we went blasting along at fun pace. Eventually, Dismal Creek started descending the mountain we had earlier climbed and it became apparent that this area had seen the same extreme rain fall that created the mud holes from earlier in the day. Picture a once nice little gravel road that feels like it has been abandoned by all of humanity; with wash outs up to a foot deep running along the road and randomly crossing it. Sometimes there would only be a couple feet of the road surface left and the rest was wash outs; good line selection was critical. Finally we popped out on to a paved country road where I announced there was one more road I wanted to hit before we called it a day. In other BRT reports which I had read, Hogback Mountain Rd was listed as a favorite and being so close to it, I did not want to miss the opportunity. No one protested; but some probably soon wished they had. We hit Hogback and started climbing up a pretty steep, twisty and long mountain dirt track. Eventually we hit the summit where there was literally nothing but valleys for a long way on each side as the track leveled off. Then again it started; THE MUD! How the hell can there be so much water on the very TOP of a mountain. At some point I realized there was no one behind me so I pulled over. Eventually Wingfixer came riding up looking dejected. I asked him what was wrong and he said “I am just tired of falling”; the long afternoon of mud and Distanzias were taking their toll. I give him major props for riding those tires in those conditions. We both sat there for a while waiting but no one else came. WF mentioned that he had seen Sam go down but was getting him self back together by the time he went by him. We then both commented that it was about time Sam had an issue as up until now he was the only one who hadn’t; old guys can’t make it look easy for the young guys! Finally when no one came, we turned back and made our way back through the mud holes we had just fought so hard to get through the first time. What could be the problem? Where are these other guys? Had Sam gone down harder than what we thought (we found out later he did have a huge gouge in his forearm from his get off, it was pretty impressive). We fought our way back, mud hole after mud hole; around turn after turn, and then; there they were:



Many of these mud holes were less than a foot deep and with a little momentum you could gun your way through them. Some of them had decent lines around the side where you could also skirt around, but ALL of them were so muddy you had no idea of their true depth until you were actually in them. Well Paul guessed wrong on this one and tried the up-the center approach. Unfortunately, it was a monster and stopped his KLR dead in its tracks causing him to dump it in the puddle. By the time Pat and I got there, Sam and Paul had the bike upright and all the bags stripped off but could not drag it up out of the hole. With all hands on board we were able to drag it out but then we were delivered the news that it went down running and sucked in a lot of water and won’t even turn over now… Waiter; check please….

What ever you do, don't drop any parts into the mud:


We all knew what had to be done. We started stripping the bike to get the tank off to pull the plug. We drained the bowl on the carb and took out the wet air filter and then spun it over with the plug out. Water came shooting out of the head like old-faithful. We checked the plug and had spark so we put it all back together and reconnected the KLR tanker of a gas tank. Had the rod bent before it locked up with water? Would it start? Would we ever get down of this mountain? Crank, crank; nothing. Take it apart again, re-do every thing; a little more water out of the bowl, plug looks o.k. Put it together; crank, crank, rhrummm, rhrummm, sputter, sputter; die. Repeat, sputter, sputter, die. Why is gas shooting out the over flow tube for the carb just before it dies every time? The float must be stuck. We really don’t want to have to pull this carb as it is starting to get dark, on top of the mountain, miles from any thing. Wait, let’s try blowing down the over flow tube; o.k. who wants to give the carb a hummer? (the volunteer will remain nameless). Crank, crank, rhrummm, rhrummm, sputter; NO wait, rhrummm, rhrummm, rhrummm, rhrummm! It’s alive! At this point day light is fading very fast; and we notice that the KLR’s headlight is filled with muddy water. As soon as that water hits that hot halogen bulb its going to be no more lighty. O.K. pull the head light off and dump the water; sounds easy right? Not really. Eventually its gets dumped and put back together and Paul gets to repack his wet bags from the spill and we are finally off again! Darkness has found us and the going is slow but we slug through it and cover 6 more miles of mud-hell and eventually pop out on RT 52. At this point the GPS says it is 28 miles to Wytheville where we originally planned to stay and the GPS can’t find lodging anywhere else. Jubilant that we have made it off the mountain yet despondent that we have a 28 mile ride ahead of us at this time of night, we start making our way and soon come into the town of Bland. Bland is an appropriate name for this town as there is not much there and we quickly pass through it and soon come to Interstate 77 where the GPS wants us to go. Just as we start making the turn onto the ramp, just a little further down the road, up on a hill, we spy the Big Walker motel; Halleluiah! Halleluiah! We grab some rooms, find a Subway that is still open then hit the local gas station for some beers. In a true show of class, Paul goes off and finds the local Dairy Queen (which was actually closed but he convinced them to make something anyway) and brings us all back hot-fudge sundaes as restitution for help with his water logged bike. This was totally not necessary as it could have happened to any one of us, but as we kicked back out side the Big Walker motel with our beers and sundaes and watched the trucks roll by on I-77, life was good as we had survived another day on the BRT….

[Rut Row]

I am no longer sorry I bailed on this ride.

[bonehead]

DAMN, that sounds like it was fun.

[Rut Row]

Dan, that sounds like ot was fun.

you would feel right at home

[trialsrider]

My body hurts from reading this story

[Wingfixer]

My body hurts from reading this story

My body still hurts from the half of this ride I did! The distanzia's will NOT be making an appearance at another dual sport ride!

[mdubya]

Awesome story!