Outside the cozy confines of my tent, the morning dew had drenched everything in sight. It was cold, probably low 40s, but the sky was clear and the sun was starting rise up over the trees. I walked over to the Suburban to grab my thermos and begin the hunt for coffee. Pat was out cold on his mattress inside the truck so I did my best not to wake him.
I found coffee at the stand that had been selling burgers, brats, and dogs the night before. Coffee was a little weak, but three or four thermos fulls did the trick. Pat woke up just as I began to get antsy, and we grabbed some food and went to meet Paul at the car. After waiting for about ten minutes, we saw Paul shuffling his way through the campgrounds, obviously struggling a bit from the night before. I threw him a gigantic Gatorade and we loaded in the Suburban. On the way out, we pulled over to talk to Chris while he was loading his car to go run the Gauley. He busted out the Snowshoe trail map and pointed out all the trails we needed to hit that day. After a nice 'broment' and some high fives, we were on our way.
The drive from Summersville to Snowshoe is riddled with windy roads and breathtaking views. Highway 55/20/15 traverses and descends at least three ridges on the way to Snowshoe. Throughout the entire ride the three of us speculated on the vast number of bike trails that just had to exist in that terrain. After about two hours, we started seeing signs for Snowshoe.
***
The Snowshoe resort is positioned on top of the mountain, and during the summer it's almost like a ghost town. We drove around for about 10 minutes and did not see one roof rack for bicycle. Finally, after backtracking through the resort a second time, we noticed a biker in full gear bombing town some stairs outside the main village of the resort. "This must be the place," we all said. We parked the car, geared up, and asked for directions to the ticket office. Once we purchased the tickets we hopped on our bikes and road up to the trail head.
Pat's downhill bike had been in the shop and wasn't ready before we left Asheville, so he was going to be riding his hard tail dirt jumper all day. This meant we were going to avoid the really technical, more expert trails for most of the day, which was fine with me. As it turned out, the more moderately difficult trails were an absolute blast. Gigantic berms lined up one after another required your transitions to be spot on if you wanted to carry speed into the table-top jumps that immediately followed. One of my favorites on the more freeride terrain was a trail called Raging Bull. Huge, flowy berms and table-tops in the woods section, and towards the end the trail shoots you out into the open where you run into two big, wooden berms and a step-down finish. Quick and fun.
We finished our first run down the mountain and the adrenaline was flowing at high speed. I pulled the map out of my pocked and gazed at all the trails we had available to ride. Excuse the cliche, but I have never felt more like a little kid in a candy store. On our second run down we decided to finish on Raging Bull again, but before the run Paul told us he wanted to stop and hit one of the big gap jumps that you run into about 3/4 of the way down.
We all stopped and Paul scoped out the jump. I would personally never even attempt it, but Paul was fired up. He seemed to be right on line, but as hit the lip his bike bucked a little more than he wanted it to. Pat and I immediately knew this was going to end badly. Paul disappeared over the other side of the jump, and we quickly ran down to check on him. Not good. He completely overshot the landing and crashed hard. The visor on his helmet had broken off and he had blood on his face. He was nursing his arm and it was immediately apparent to me that he was going to be out for a bit. "It's definitely broken," Paul told us.
As any good rider would do, he picked himself back up and finished out the trail. On the lift up he told us he was going to go back to the car and drink some beers, and then come out with his camera and snap some shots. It's never fun to see one of your buddies go down, especially on the second run. But it was great to see that he wanted to make the best out of the situation. When we got to the top, he traded bikes with Pat and rode off towards the parking lot. After a brief discussion of what we wanted to do, we nailed the drop-down stunts at the top and bombed down the fire road that traverses the top of the mountain.
Now that Pat was riding more of a downhill setup, we decided to hit the more rowdy trails (i.e. the ones everyone told us to avoid). We found some pretty rocky, rooty trails that had nice wooden features and great run-outs. It was fun catching all that Snowshoe had to offer. We rode every trail on the Easter Basin side of the mountain and then went back and made runs down our favorites. Paul met up with us and got some nice shots on his DSLR.
After a couple runs for the photo-op, we decided to grab some lunch before hitting the trails on the other side of the mountain.
***
Bellies full and spirits high, Paul decided he felt good enough to ride the rest of the day with us. With Pat back on the hard tail and with one major crash under our belts, we decided to stick to the moderate trails. Chris told us about two trails to hit--Ninja Bob and Powerline. He said they were flowy and full of berms and jumps, which sounded just about right for the last few runs of the day.
We obviously missed a turn or two, because we ended up on a pretty gnarly trail--the exact type we were trying to avoid at this point. We came around a tight turn that led into a real rocky section. It's unclear exactly how it happened, but Pat took a spill. It didn't seem that bad until Pat let out a little "Aggh!", which he doesn't do very often. He was having trouble gripping the handlebars and had to walk the rest of the trail. My body must have been exhausted, because I was having trouble keeping my lines and staying on the bike. "Just finish out this run," I thought to myself. With two-thirds of our crew on the injury-reserve list, I felt compelled to get through the rest of the day unscathed.
Paul and I explored some trails on the way down and met Pat at the shuttle stop. By the time he met up with us, his hand had begun to swell and he was pretty sure he broke something. Paul and I decided to do one more run--except this time we'd stick to the trails we wanted to ride--and meet Pat at the takeout.
The shuttle showed up and we loaded up along with a couple other riders that came down the mountain. I had heard stories of the wild driving tactics employed by the shuttle drivers at Snowshoe, but it didn't register until we hit that first tight curve at 55 mph. It's funny to think that I'm willing to risk life and limb on a mountain bike, but I was scared to death on the shuttle ride back to the top. It was a relief to reach the drop-off point and get back on my back.
Paul and I double-checked the map to make sure we didn't miss the trails this time. After deciding our route, we went down and hit the best trails I had ridden all day. Berm after berm after berm led straight into eight-foot table-top jumps and immediately into another series of three or four berms. It was amazing. I was inexperienced with this type of cornering, so Paul gave me a few pointers that really helped and made the berms a blast to hit. We finished the day with an awesome ride, but it was a shame that Pat couldn't be there with us.
Pat was waiting in the Suburban at the shuttle stop. We loaded up the truck and after a beer break we began our trek home. With only two quick stops, we made it back to Asheville in exactly six hours right as the clock struck midnight. It was good to know that Snowshoe is a feasible weekend trip for a 9-to-5er like me.
***
The next day, I received a text from Pat. "Bad break. Yeehaw! Ima get a new scar to match my left hand scar! Plate n screws," he wrote. Paul had broken his hand too. Combine that with our other biking buddies Dale and Bryan, we had four members of our crew on the IR.
Injuries aside--and Pat and Paul would agree--it was was a weekend for the ages. I never thought I could pack that much adventure into 38 hours. There's a race at Snowshoe on October 3. I think another trip is in the cards.
(MORE PHOTOS TO COME)
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