Asphalt I.Q.Who needs brains to find good roads when you’ve got asphalt like this?Story by Bill Wood Some places require you to be smart. As a motorcyclist, you’ve got to be connected, you’ve got to have inside information, you’ve got to know somebody if you’re gonna have a good time.
This is what I learned in 2½ days of riding through West Virginia. Actually, I’m a quick learner—it took me only a day-and-a-half. Until then, I thought Senior Editor Grant Parsons was some kind of genius—an asphalt savant. I thought he knew all the roads. Then I figured out the whole thing was a scam. Grant, who lived in West Virginia for a while and therefore became our tour director for the asphalt portion of Ride Guide West Virginia, didn’t need any secret list of great motorcycle roads in the state—nearly all of them are great motorcycle roads. You’d have to be missing on a couple of cylinders to pick a bad one. Take U.S. Route 60, for example. Just about anyplace else, a big U.S. route with a zero at the end would mean four lanes full of trucks, and scenic values rivaling the inside of a state DMV office.
That is, admittedly, the way Route 60 starts out when you take it southeast from Charleston, the beginning point for our trip. The road parades you past chemical plants and coal depots, just what we didn’t want to see. . .or smell. This, we discovered, is one side of West Virginia—a gritty, industrial side that fits in with the state’s position as poor relation to the Rust Belt. From the beginning, the rest of the country has looked upon this area as Mother Nature’s warehouse district, a convenient source of timber or fuel, and a dumping ground for all those industries you’d rather not have in your back yard. But by the time you get to Glen Ferris, less than 40 miles down the road, everything changes. Here, the Kanawha (pronounced "Kah-naw") River drops over the stairstep known as Kanawha Falls. Pass it, and suddenly you’re in the other West Virginia—the one that has earned the nickname of the Mountain State. It’s full of rugged hills, endless forest and, best of all, yellow road signs covered with black, squiggly arrows. From here, the road climbs steadily, twisting all the way to Hawks Nest State Park, a mandatory tourist stop promising a spectacular overlook of West Virginia’s awesome New River Gorge. But just before we got there, Grant exhibited his background knowledge by pulling into a parking lot next to a small building with an antique VW Beetle sticking out of it. This is the Mystery Hole, an old tourist trap that closed when the original owner died a few years back. It’s recently reopened under new management. What is the Mystery Hole? It’s a place where the law of gravity has been repealed! Where the floors angle uphill! Where golf balls roll uphill! Where water flows, uh, uphill! How? It’s a mystery! When you were 10 years old, this is exactly the kind of place you pestered your parents to death about, trying to get them to stop the car on vacation. Now, you’re in charge of that brake lever. Sure, some of the theatrics wear a bit thin in the 21st century, but the Mystery Hole is still a fun way to waste $3 and give yourself a whopper of a headache for no extra charge. On the other hand, the New River Gorge is impressive no matter what your age. This 900-foot-deep canyon, carved by the inappropriately named "New" River over several million years, qualifies as one of the most impressive natural attractions in the Eastern U.S.
If you’ve got the time, you can join thousands of other visitors hiking, fishing, rock climbing, whitewater rafting, mountain biking and more here. But even in a brief visit, you can soar above the gorge on U.S. Route 19, which takes you across the world’s longest single-arch bridge, more than half a mile long and some 870 feet above the river. Then, for a sense of what it was like to cross the gorge before the bridge was completed in 1977, follow the signs to the Canyon Rim Visitor Center and pick up the one-way road that winds down into the gorge and up the other side. It’s about a 30-minute trip that gives you a great view of the big bridge from the underside. Backtracking to U.S. 60, we picked up one of the best parts of this road as it continues east into the Appalachians. Running at right angles to the folded ridges of these ancient mountains, you get a whole range of riding experiences in one. Climbing up and over each ridgeline, there’s an intense three-to-five-mile segment of tight corners, marked 20 to 40 mph, followed by a longer stretch of more gentle curves through the next valley. Grant and I were on cruisers—he had a 650cc Yamaha V Star Classic, while I was on Yamaha’s big Road Star, a 1,600cc performance cruiser that carries its weight low and its floorboards even lower (don’t worry, they fold up). Meanwhile, Denny Thrush, our senior art director, was on his R1, a bike that takes a slightly different approach to performance. In spite of the wide range of equipment, we all loved every minute of it. Now that’s a great road. At the little town of Charmco, we turned north, aiming for our overnight stop in Elkins. But which road to take? It really is a dilemma. Getting up to Richwood is pretty straightforward—just take state Route 20 over Laurel Creek Mountain and then through a series of long, narrow valleys. But from Richwood, you can either continue north, skirting the edge of the Monongahela National Forest on state Routes 20 and 15 (both designated scenic on the map), or you can turn east on state Route 39, heading into the heart of the forest. I recommend the latter option, since it connects you to state Route 150, the Highland Scenic Highway. It’s everything you’d expect from the name—a gently curving two-lane without a billboard, a stop sign or even a house along its 20-mile length. You climb to more than 4,500 feet to ride the sometimes narrow ridge of Black Mountain, looking down into the valley of the Williams River to the east and the Cranberry River to the west. Eventually, we ended up on U.S. Route 219 for the final leg into Elkins. Wandering through dairy farms along the Tygart River, it offers a more relaxed experience—just the way to end the day.
Soon, though, Route 33 turns into a tight two-lane, climbing one ridge after another—first Cheat Mountain, then Shavers Mountain, Middle Mountain and Rich Mountain. On a cool morning, with fog lingering in the valleys, it felt almost like flying, as we broke through the clouds into bright sunshine. The most impressive climb is the last one, where the road clings to every fold of Allegheny Mountain, twisting its way to a view of Seneca Rocks, an impressive wall of bare rock rising some 900 feet above the adjacent valley. Seneca Rocks is a magnet for serious rock climbers, and if you look closely, you can barely make them out—tiny specks crawling across the arches and buttresses of the cathedral-like formation. But even if your idea of recreation is considerably less strenuous, the visitors center at the base of the rocks is a great place to stop, enjoy the view and learn more about this exceptional outcropping.
All in all, though, we got lucky, hitting West Virginia in the buildup to a major national election, when state politicians had already tried to bribe, er, reward loyal voters with a fresh coat of asphalt almost everywhere. A short stretch of gravel was a small price to pay for the perfect pavement we’d enjoyed everywhere else. Leaving the construction behind, we passed through the little town of Franklin in late morning. And then, I admit it, we got a bit cocky. A day-and-a-half of riding had convinced us: There are no boring roads in West Virginia. So we decided to test that theory. At the next intersection, we struck out randomly to the north, then turned left on the first county road we came to. It was barely two lanes wide, and rose up into the hills through a series of tight corners. As we were stopped taking photos at a picturesque barn, a pickup truck pulled up. The driver, noticing our out-of-state plates, asked if we were lost. No, we replied confidently, we were just enjoying some of West Virginia’s back roads. Where was that guy about a half-hour later, when we found ourselves at an intersection that didn’t appear to exist even in Grant’s topographic atlas, and we hadn’t seen another person since, well, him? OK, we got lost. But not seriously lost—not lost enough to actually turn around and go back the way we came. We eventually followed one road long enough that it brought us out to a main road. It wasn’t precisely the road we thought it would be, but we didn’t mind seeing Franklin a second time. In fact, we didn’t mind any part of the experience, since all of it—even the parts where we didn’t know where we were—was attractive. The only real mistake we made was not planning ahead. During the time we were wandering this network of county roads, cruising through forests and climbing ridges to overlooks of sleepy little sheep farms on the hillsides, there were at least a dozen places where it would have been nice to pull off the road and enjoy a picnic lunch. And there we were with nothing more than a package of peanut butter crackers among us. Having sorted out our location, we grabbed a late lunch in Franklin. Then, pressed for time, we jumped on U.S. Route 220 headed north. This route is actually sort of ordinary, and for about an hour we thought our luck might have run out. But 220 has a redeeming quality: It leads to one of the great major highways in the country—U.S. Route 50.
Also disappearing, though, was our daylight. We picked up state Route 42 and 93, cruising into Davis for the night. This small mountain town is the home of beautiful Blackwater Falls State Park and a great park lodge. Then there was the place where we planned to stop for the night. As we pulled up in front of a truly horrendous motel, our overnight reservations became serious reservations, and we decided to explore other options. Have I mentioned that Davis is home to a great state park with a wonderful lodge? In the morning, we packed up for the final short leg of our trip, taking us back to Elkins. It could have been a quick 40 minutes on U.S. Route 219, but Grant said he knew a better way. By this point, I was skeptical. Throw a dart at the map of West Virginia and you’ll find curves—how much better could it get? Then I saw state Route 72. It’s hard to believe roads like this still exist. It’s all of a lane-and-a-half wide (that’s one average-sized car and one motorcycle, at best), and the longest straight stretch is just slightly longer than the wheelbase of a Road Star. This is not—repeat, not—the place to practice your racetrack moves. It’s the paved equivalent of an A enduro trail, a place where you need to stay alert and ready to react to what’s around the next blind corner. The analogy is helped by the fact that you run through deep forest all the way from state Route 32, where we picked up the road, till it joins up with 219 near the town of Parsons. It’s an unforgettable ride, like winding through a park for 15 miles. In other words, even by the standards of West Virginia roads, this last piece of pavement was exceptional. So that leaves me with two possibilities: One, Grant had this whole thing planned in advance, stringing together 2½ days of great roads that happened to end with one of West Virginia’s best. Or two, a motorcyclist just can’t go wrong in the Mountain State. I’m thinking it could be both. |
