Big Mountain Riding

The inaugural bigmountainriding.com adventure shelled out a lot of what makes Big Mountain Riding so challenging, exciting and yes, dangerous at times. I selected the Whetstone Ridge Trail in Virginia’s Nelson and Rockbridge counties. I picked a doozy of a day for it. Highs in the low 40’s, snow flurries at higher elevations. And the weatherman had it right this time too. Snow flurries throughout the day on this longer-than planned ride.

Signpost listing distance of the Singletrack part of the ride (from the south)

The ride I had planned out using a USGS map of the area was a 20+ mile loop from the Whetstone Ridge Restaurant on the Blue Ridge Parkway, featuring a long ridge ride on singletrack and then a prolonged climb back on a mixed surface county road. I had not done the ride before, but I had the time and the experience with long distance riding in less than ideal conditions. Donning the cold-weather gear, I packed away a lot of backcountry equipment as well. These are items that go along on all back country expeditions, solo or group rides. 100-oz water pack, first aid kit with emergency blanket and water purification tablets, compass and map, more food than I think I’ll need. I also wore my crash pads (more later on the irony of that). Fortunately, I also carried my cell phone, although I didn’t think I’d have service for most of the ride.

The restrooms at the Parkway rest area were open, so I took the opportunity to use indoor plumbing and warm up a bit before starting the pedals turning on my bike, Jack Rabbit Slim, a 2007 Gary Fisher HiFi Deluxe. The singletrack parallels the parkway for the first few minutes, and then starts up to the ridge. The initial climb is a good challenge of technical climbing because of the rock stair sections. Once the trail gains the ridge line, which doesn’t take long, things settled into a regularity. It is Whetstone Ridge Trail, and the singletrack sticks mostly to the ridge line, with its relatively minor ups and downs. It does deviate to either side of the actual spine from time to time. And even the spine itself features some gnarly ups and downs. See the picture below to the right.

A gnarly but rideable section on the spine of Whetsone Ridge

The good news about the initial climb was that I warmed up quickly, even with the snow flurries. Soon I was sweeping up and down, starting to feel the ride and hoping for something a bit more gonzo than what seemed to be mostly a mild-mannered hiking trail. Pride goes before …

Since the trail was mellow I took the opportunity to play around with shooting a riders POV video with my hand held digital camera.  That was fun, although I almost lost the camera when I had to make a quick grab for the other side of the handlebars with my camera hand to prevent a spill. Gonna need a Hero cam and helmet mount if I want to shoot the cooler sections. I’ll try to upload the video, though, so you can get an idea of the bleakness of the day and the trail.

Less than an hour in and I came to rue my earlier gonzo attitude. Approaching a downed log on a flat section of the trail, I was moving at a good pace and preparing to manual the front wheel over it. It stuck about six inches or less up above the leaves. However, as I approached the log, I realized my front wheel was plowing deeper and deeper into the leaves. The log was two to three times higher than I had thought! I’m not sure what exactly happened next, but I know too things: 1. I didn’t successfully clean the log, and 2. I let BriLo down. I got the front wheel over, I believe but the back wheel slammed into the log and bucked up. I stiffened up and did not correct my rapid up and over momentum. When my bike hit the ground, one end of the handlebars planted into the red Virginia clay deep enough to peel back the grips. The other end waited for me. I landed on it on my right thigh, an then bounced off into the leaves. As always, I forgot to land on my forearms, which are protected by the crash pads. And the bar drove into my thigh about two inches above the top of my knee and shin guard. See photo to the left below. The picture of the winner (the submerged log) is to the right below.

A log with my name on it. The leaves camo its true height.

Swelling within two minutes of crash - just above the crash pad.

After impact, I rolled around on the ground for awhile, expressing myself and hoping the pain would abait soon. I didn’t know what had happened until later, but I had this nasty feeling in my leg and I knew it was more than just a normal spill. After a minute or so I got to my feet; my leg was stiff and I could see the bulge through my tights. In a way, I was glad that I coudn’t see all the details behind the black lycra.

Back in the saddle it was a slower and wiser Tigger for awhile. First, I had to force my right leg to turn the cranks and do things like stand up in the rough stuff. Secondly, I had realized as I writhed in the leaves that I was a long way from help and on a day that would not likely see any other trail users. Finally, I had a stomach-turning thought about what an impact point about a foot higher would have done. “Has anyone seen my spleen? I seem to have ruptured my spleen.” God was with me that day, though and I only had one whopper of a charley horse. It made me regret the day years ago when I had come home from school and asked my younger brother, Dig, if he knew what a frogger was. He didn’t and so I asked if he wanted one. Now I had the king of froggers. My remorseful reminiscing also extended to my Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure team mate, Darren, who had done something similar on the approach to a mossy railroad tie bridge during the 2008 PMBAR. Except his was higher up the inner thigh. Ouch. I realized I had not fully realized how much something like that hurt.

Eventually I was riding scared enough that I was putting myself in more danger with the low speed and hesitancy. I also walked the most gonzo part of the the trail (though this may have been a very good thing given later events). At the top of one of the ridges the trail dove off the backside and even had a few Porcupine Rim-esque big step-offs. Another day. After hopping down these steps and almost losing it trying to walk through a rock garden or two, I got the courage back and the sense of self-preservation and stayed aboard for most of the rest of the ride’s descents.

I stopped high atop the ridge for my lunch, as I was getting cold for the first time since leaving the parking lot. I had packed along a grilled chicken wrap that felt like it weighed a pound or so. Solid food. I ate half of it atop the ridge and saved the remainder for what promised to be a grueling climb back along the road. Now I could see the occasional house down in the valley below, so I knew that had to be the road that I would be traveling. As the trail picked up pace on its way down the ridge as it dropped down into the creek valley, I almost missed a turn-off that I was not expecting. My map was 10-years old, and they have apparently changed the routing of the singletrack. I brought Jack Rabbit Slim to a halt and turned back and dropped down on hillside-hewn singletrack wending its way back along the ridge.

A ways down the hillside descent – at a low enough elevation that the wildflowers were blooming – I stopped and ate the other half of the wrap. Several minutes after resuming the descent, the ride threw me another curveball. An uprooted tree had rerouted the trail a foot to one side and I carved past the root ball, straightened up and then heard a sound like a handclap or a finger snap. My back wheel flopped do my left and began to rub on the seat stays. I hit the brakes, confused. The only other time I had felt that sensation was on my very first mountain bike, a Sears special. I had rode into a few to many curves, breaking 17 of the rear spokes over time. One day I stood up to pedal up an incline, applied force and the rear hub just broke loose. The rear wheel flopped into the seat stays and that was the end of that ride. I knew the hub had not snapped loose on Jack Rabbit Slim. I looked down and saw the left chain stay almost touching the ground. It had snapped clean in two. This was a first.

My first mid-ride frame failure - a long walk awaits

I contemplated my options for a bit. I was probably a mile from the road, and then at least 10 miles from my car once I got on the road. That was only a 3-4 hour walk, except that my right leg was still throbbing away and I was wearing cycling shoes with SPD cleats on the bottom. I powered up my cellphone. No signal. I looked up at the ridge looming to behind me. Then I remembered that I had seen cell towers on the ridge opposite when I was up on Whetstone Ridge. I left the bike trail side, along with my Camelback. I took the map, and my compass. Looking over at the opposite ridge, I sighted on the towers and took a compass bearing. Then I began the arduous process of hauling myself up the steep and leaf-covered hillside in hopes of getting a signal. The first few times a bar appeared, it disappeared as soon as I hit send. Finally I was up high enough that I was starting to expect to come across the trail again, up on the ridge. I must have climbed a quarter to a half mile up the hill. I had two bars of digital roam. I called my buddy Phil, who has had to extract me from a few dicey situations before. No answer. I looked at my watch and realized he was in a meeting and would be for the next hour at least. I called him back and left him a message just in case he saw I was calling twice. I waited a few minutes. Then I called him again and left some more details – I thought I might have understated the first message. I left a message detailing my situation and my location in what I hoped was a lucid set of directions.

I thought I should call my wife and leave her a voicemail that I would be quite late getting home. To get a signal, I had my phone flipped upside down with the internal antenna pointed up instead of its normal location. To do this meant using the speaker phone as the internal antenna is near the mouthpiece for some reason. I didn’t know if I was even understandable in this format. My own rescue ranger picked up the phone, and I changed plans on the fly. I gave detailed instructions, only losing her once or twice as the signal faded. Using my directions, the tip to look up nearby Crabtree Falls on Google, and the GPS in the car, she was able to find me.

Before our happy reunion, I faced 2-3 hours of staying warm and getting down to the road. My compass bearing worked out better than I had hoped, and I came out of the undergrowth right on top of my broken bike. I pushed it down the remainder of the trail, which took at least 1/2 hour. Then I was out on the paved part of VA 603. Surprisingly, no one stopped to ask if I wanted a ride. Not that I would have taken them up, as I had support on the way, but in my experience country folk are more helpful. However, these were hillfolk, with the accompanying inbred, oops, I mean inherited, paranoia and passive-aggressive outlooks.

Get out of Dodge, Hombre

I saw at least two places with the same strange sign. It stated: “Not responsible for accidents.” OK. Accidents like accidental shootings?

My rescue ranger arrived right on time. Just as my leg was starting to really protest the long walk out, I looked at my watch and thought that my dearest could arrive at any moment. Minutes later, the car swept around a bend in the road. More than nine miles of progressively steeper road still remained between me and my car. I was very happy to not have to hoof that. I calculated that it would have taken me an additional 4-5 hours at the pace I was making on the bum leg. As it was, we were home by shortly after dark, eating Chinese take-out by the fireplace.

I took the bike to the shop the next day and Fisher should be replacing the rear triangle. A week later and my leg is feeling better. I have been swimming and I ran some stairs today. I may ride tomorrow. Something tamer than Whetstone Ridge. As a closing thought, I include a photo of my leg a few days after the ride, once the colors had spread a bit.

- Big Mountain Riding, Whetstone Ridge Trail

©Big Mountain Riding

Like a rainbow