Adventures in West Virginia Part I: The Gauley

Ever since I acquired my new downhill bike, my thirst for adventure has been damn near insatiable.  I've descended more trails in the last three weeks than I had the entire summer prior to my purchase.  The new bike--a 2005 Santa Cruz VP Free sold to me by a close friend--has really forced me to step up my game and try new lines I never would have dreamed of riding on the more all-mountain setup of my Fisher.  The VP has given me the drive to ride new trails every week and to push myself harder with each ride.  So when my friend Pat asked me to go on a trip to West Virginia that would ultimately end with a day of riding at Snowshoe Mountain, I signed on without hesitation.

The plan was to meet at my house and roll out at around 9:00 AM on Saturday.  Our first stop was in Summersville, West Virginia where the annual Gauley River Festival is held.  The crew consisted of three adventurous fellows in Pat's dad's Suburban--aptly dubbed Battlecar Galactica once fully rigged (SEE PHOTO).  It was Pat (our fearless leader), Nick (met him the night before and found out he needed a lift), and me.

On the back:  Pat's bike and my bike.  On the roof: Nick's boat, Pat's boat, and Paul's (who we would be meeting in WV) bike.

Naturally--and in good fashion--we didn't actually leave until around 10:30 AM.  I say in good fashion, because we couldn't rightly leave Asheville without dining at Sunny Point.  At this rate, Pat and Nick were going to put in the Gauley right at 3:00 PM (just as the dam is shut off).  We were calling it close and banking on there being zero traffic hold-ups along the way, otherwise no boating for those fellers.

As with any trip where anticipations are high, the drive seemed to take forever.  Not to say we didn't have a good time in the car, but I couldn't stop thinking about what the next 48 hours had in store for us.  This was my first trip to Gauley Fest, my first trip to Snowshoe, and the first time I was going to ride at resort with lifts and shuttles all laid out for me.  It was definitely shaping up to be a weekend for the books.

We arrived the same way we left--in good fashion.  Pulling into the put-in parking lot just ahead of the dam being shut-off, I quickly helped them unload their boats and watched them walk off into the woods.  Left there with no direction of where to find the take-out, and with no cell phone service, I instinctively drove back up to the road and began searching for cars with roof racks heading in the same direction that the river flowed.  Being that there was a kayak festival going on at the time, the parking area for the take-out was packed full of cars.  Since it was so late in the day by the time I pulled up, there were many boaters already chugging beers and getting the night started.  I picked a spot right near the trail-head where the boaters hike out, threw on my shoes, and started hiking down the trail.

The trail was steep and technical, and I dreaded the walk back up.  I could not imagine having to hike a kayak up it, but I could  imagine riding my bike down it.  Man was this trail begging for a descent!  The entire hike down I had my hands held out in front of me imaging they were gripping the handlebars of my bike and "riding" the lines that stood out to me.  When I got to the bottom where the take-out is, I ran into a guy named Nate that I had biked with before.  He had just finished running the section that Pat and Nick were currently coming down and I asked him how long it took him.  "About three and a half to four hours, but Pat should be done in two and a half or three," he said.  I checked my watch and realized I had at least two hours to kill.  Hmm, what should I do to pass the time?  Cold beer, of course.  I said goodbye to Nate and began my trek back up the trail.

I cracked a beer and sat in the woods at the top of the trail with a couple other guys that were cheering on the boaters hiking up the last steep section.  I ran into my friend James and hung out with him the rest of the time.  He was the only person I recognized out of this whole crowd.  Not being a boater made this trip a lot of fun for me.  I always enjoy meeting new people while immersing myself into a new culture--and make no mistake, kayakers do share a unique culture.

About an hour and a half and four beers later, I saw Pat's boat poking out of the woods.  "I need a beer," he said.  Pat ran the Upper Gauley in under two hours, a section which seemed to take most people at least four.  Badass.  Pat introduced to some friends I happened to park next to, and we hung out with them for the next thirty minutes or so until Nick got back  to the car.  Once he did, we loaded up and began our search for food. 

The town of Summersville doesn't have much to offer in the way of cuisine, other than the staples like Applebee's and Taco-Bell.  We ended up eating at an Asian buffett, which was probably not a good choice in hindsight.  Generally, I try to eat a somewhat healthy meal the night before intense downhill mountain biking, and three plates full of MSG is not exactly what the doctor ordered.  But we indulged, and headed up the road to the festival. 

The actual festival grounds were located behind a high school football stadium.  There were tents set up by kayak and other outdoor companies.  Boats were laid out all over the place, and I had to constantly watch my step so as to avoid damaging thousands of dollars worth of equipment.  Our buddy Chris was working at the Dagger tent (a kayak company  that sponsors Pat), so we headed there first.  Chris had ridden at Snowshoe earlier that day and was about to explode while telling us all about it.  He was bursting with excitement about the day and his descriptions of the trails lit a fire in me.  All I could think about was the next day's ride.  

The rest of the night was a blur and it wasn't from the alcohol--which I drank very little of due to my anticipation of the day to follow.  Pat knew everyone, and everyone knew Pat.  I kind of tagged along with him the whole night and was introduced to a countless amount of kayakers from all over.  There seemed to be a lot of boaters from outside the Pittsburgh area, particularly Seven Springs which is about an hour from my hometown of Youngstown, Ohio.  I was pretty stoked to find out that there is a pretty big downhill scene in the Pittsburgh area.  I am definitely bringing my bike home with me in the spring.

Snake Oil Medicine Show--a band with roots in Asheville--was playing on the stage in the festival.  For most of the night they were more background music to my endeavors, but they caught my attention when they covered a song by Railroad Earth.  Once I had my eyes focused on the stage, I realized just how rowdy this festival was about to be.  There were about 100 people dancing to bluegrass music, many of whom had their own bottles of liquor or container some sort of mixed beverage in hand.  My eyes grew wide with anticipation.

The festival grounds started to shut down around midnight.  Pat looked at me and confirmed the realization I had when watching all those people dancing.  "This is when the craziness ensues," he said.  Sure enough, a group of drunken paddlers began wrestling one another about ten feet away from us.  Another paddler came running up while yelling, "Hang on guys!  I've got gloves!"  By gloves he meant boxing gloves.  This was my cue to head back to the campsite.  

I felt like I was five years old on Christmas Eve again.  All I could think about was riding at Snowshoe.  It had been hailed as the best riding in the Southeast, and one of the best places to ride in the entire country.  Chris' stories of his rides had me riled up and all I could think about was getting up there.  Once back at the car, I quickly set up my tent and readied myself for sleep.  The morning could not come fast enough.