PlaygroundNew trails on old landby Grant Parsons Overconfidence. That’s what I’m chalking it up to. Well, that and a total lack of communication. But then, we were having way too much fun to worry about such details.
You have to understand, we had been planning this trip for months. We had driven most of one day to get here. We had devoted the next morning to responsible things like tracking down and interviewing the folks who made the incredible Hatfield-McCoy Recreation Area a reality. In short, we had spent plenty of time doing everything except the one thing we really, really wanted to do: ride!
It all started at the Bear Wallow trailhead in the Dingess-Rum riding area, one of three areas that opened to trail riders in West Virginia last October. With weeks of anticipation behind us, and more than 80 miles of trail ahead, we immediately set to hauling around with abandon on our Yamaha XT225 dual-sport bikes. The first trails featured some steep uphills that were a bit slick from rain the day before. But they were also wide and well-graded, perfectly matching the "easiest" rating we’d seen on the trail signs. Those signs, by the way, are a rider’s best friend. Every trail intersection has a "street sign" clearly indicating the route number of the trail you’re on and the trail you’re crossing, along with ratings (green for easiest, blue for more difficult, black for most difficult) for each. With a trail map in your fanny pack, you literally can’t get lost. Each riding area includes a main green-trail loop so that anyone can ride all the way around. The Dingess-Rum area, located just outside of Logan, West Virginia, about an hour southwest of Charleston, has the highest percentage of alternate single-track trails, rated most difficult, making it the best of the current areas for serious off-road riders. We, of course, did not fall into that category. We were a group of recreational riders on bikes with lights, turn signals and electric starters. Oh yeah, and DOT tires. But we were having a ball on the green trails leading up to a ridge. And as we stopped to take photos at one point, well, things went a bit nuts. Managing Editor Bill Wood and I arrived at the intersection first, with Associate Editor Kim Barlag, our least-experienced off-road rider, farther back. The route—trail number 86—was clearly marked as black, so it wasn’t a matter of mistaken identity. But Bill aimed his front wheel at the steep singletrack disappearing into the trees high above, then grinned and pointed up. I smiled right back and motioned him to go first. So he did, dumping the clutch and clawing his way up the hill. Meanwhile, I waited for Kim to show up so I could tell her we were off to do a bit of exploring, and we’d be right back. We’ve since compared notes concerning what happened next, and it seems we all have different recollections. When Kim arrived, I remember clearly saying: "You wait here.’’ However, that’s not what she heard. But more on that in a moment. I followed Bill up the trail, which rapidly turned into a narrow ribbon of dirt barely clinging to the hillside and threading its way through the tight trees. In other words, it was a great trail, particularly if you didn’t happen to be on a bike with turn signals. I hadn’t gone far when I saw Bill coming back toward me. He wanted to make sure Kim had gotten the message not to follow. "No problem,’’ I said. "I told her to sit tight. She’ll wait for us there.’’ He turned back around and continued up the trail behind me. It was a whole lot wetter and muddier here, but we were having a great time till Bill lost mo’ on one snot-slick uphill, slid backward and ended up under his bike, laughing. I fell twice just trying to get back to him on my feet. His tires packed with West Virginia clay, Bill decided to turn around and go back the way we’d come. But I’d already reached the top of the tough stuff, so I checked my map and figured out that if I went a bit farther, I’d rejoin the main trail. Now back to Kim. As Bill picked his way down the hill, he found her dusting herself off, with her bike laying sideways partway up the first hill. "Who told you to do that?’’ he asked, jokingly. Turns out, it was me. I thought I’d clearly said, "You wait here.’’ She thought she clearly heard, "Use first gear.’’ Bill, who wasn’t even there, accused me of telling her: "Fall on your ear." Hmmm. Have I mentioned we all make our living in communication? Actually, Bill tells me that the language coming out of Kim’s mouth at that moment communicated quite clearly. While all that was going on, I had a slight misadventure of my own. It was one of those simple little get-offs I was hoping to keep to myself. But unfortunately, it took out the starter button on my bike. And it got pretty hard to cover up my mishap when I had to plunder Bill’s supply of tools to fashion an emergency starter switch out of safety wire. Let’s see, that’s one black trail, one crash for each of us. There’s probably a message there somewhere, but don’t expect us to decipher it. The rest of the afternoon was just plain fun. We stuck mostly to the green trails, but we explored a couple of the blue, more difficult trails, as well. All without incident, I might add. Occasionally, we came across evidence of what this area was used for previously. Giant slag piles and rusting remains of coal-mining equipment are reminders that this land has been worked pretty hard over the decades. But a quarter-mile down the trail, you’d swear you were in a park. It all added up to a great afternoon on the trails. And that turned out to be just the start. The next morning, we headed down to the little town of Man, and the Rockhouse trailhead for the Browning Fork riding area. This time, we were on ATVs—a Yamaha Big Bear 4x4 and a Yamaha Kodiak that’s switchable between two- and four-wheel drive. This was perfect, because a four-wheeler is just the thing for Browning Fork, which contains a fair amount of soupy two-track among its 90 miles of trails. Plus, we had Chris Evans, the head operations guy for Hatfield-McCoy, and the area’s PR specialist, Kathy Mulholland, to lead us around. So in minutes, we were sliding through corners, trying to spray each other with mud and generally having a great time. And that was all before we hit trail number 12, a true masterpiece of dirt engineering. Most of the trails in the Hatfield-McCoy area are leftovers—the remains of routes used by mining and timber firms. But to complete the green-trail loop through Browning Fork, planners needed a trail to climb a steep, 1,000-foot ridge. With help from Bureau of Land Management experts working under contract, they created trail 12, a wonderful stretch of dirt that winds its way upward through a number of switchbacks. It’s ridable by a novice on an ATV, yet fun for an accomplished rider on a full off-road motorcycle. In other words, it’s just about perfect. And the rest of the day wasn’t bad, either. Riding mostly green trails, with enough blue sections to keep things interesting, we saw a representative sampling of what Browning Fork has to offer—which is a lot. By the time we made it back out to the truck to load up, we’d experienced two of the best off-road days you could ever have. The combination of great trails and great organization would be hard to beat anywhere in the country. And by the time you read this, the original 300 miles of trails will be on the way up—to 500 or 600 for 2001. All of it brand-new, just waiting for you in West Virginia. © 2001, American Motorcyclist Association |
So when we got the chance, little things like our actual level of
off-road prowess or our abilities to communicate like rational human
beings weren’t about to get in the way of having a good time.