It’s been a busy spring to say the least. With the recent addition of a new member to the family I’ve had my hands pretty full. There have been some great rides so far and the crew even made it up to Diablo Bike Park for opening weekend this year. When I think of making the transition this year from harsh winter riding to gorgeous spring single-track there’s one ride that always seems to come to mind. Before I continue know this: the following story does not contain any words or pictures involving ripping descents or sending it with style. This is a story about three middle age dudes taking a concept a little too far. OG has been cranking out some solo Pisgah loops lately without the use of a shuttle and with gas prices creeping up around four bucks a gallon we decided it would be cool to ditch the trucks for the weekend and actually pedal our lazy asses around for a change. Let’s face it, original Hucksters such as Brad, BBA and Moron used to do this type of riding every weekend while pedaling old school free ride rigs complete with Marzocchi Monster T forks, Sun Mammoth rims and 2.7 inch steel bead tires. If they could do it so could we. No cross country bikes allowed on this one. We were going to make a point to man up and pedal our big hit bikes all day. It all started innocently enough. The idea was to ease into our new pursuit with a loop that included pedaling 21 Jump Street to Schoolhouse Ridge from start to finish. Of course this wasn’t “crazy” enough for us so as a test of our manhood OG decided to up the ante and asked Steve-O and me to start our ride from his cabin in Gragg, NC. He called us off the porch and in true North Carolina fashion and we took the bait…hook, line and sinker. We set off early Saturday morning and after four and a half miles of up and down fire road pedaling we hit the trailhead of 21 Jump Street. To be honest all three of us were felling pretty good. We all had sort of a “this isn’t going to be that bad” feeling when we started to roll down 21 Jump Street. Our spirits were high and the day was wide open. If you’ve ridden 21 Jump Street you’ll know the name is kind of misleading and that it’s really not a downhill or jump trail at all. Sure, it’s got some fast gravity assisted sections but the majority of the trail involves short punchy climbs mixed with steep hike-a-bikes. By now we were getting pretty stoked about our adventure. We had finished 21 Jump Street and had one more climb to go before we got to enjoy a taste of the wild downhill ride that only Schoolhouse Ridge can dish out. Feeding off the excitement of our day I asked the guys if they wanted to once again up the “crazy” factor of our ride and skip Schoolhouse Ridge to go find a new trail we’ve never ridden before. Of course nobody backed down and off we were pedaling up a stretch of fire road for thirty minutes until we finally saw the trailhead of Thorpes Creek. After dropping into Thorpes it only took about ten more minutes for the stoke factor of our ride to turn into an hour and a half of pure hike-a-bike agony. There was a pretty harsh storm that passed through earlier in the week and it left the trail in such bad shape that we had to negotiate about fifteen separate snarls of downed trees. Some of the snags were so thick that we had to climb ten feet it the air and walk thirty feet over huge downed trees and limbs while carrying our forty-plus pound gravity sleds. Throw around eight creek crossings into the mix and the result was maybe about a quarter mile of actual riding the whole time we were on Thorpes Creek. Time passed and we eventually finished the trail and decided to stop at the Mortimer picnic area for a short rest and a snack. I couldn’t tell if OG and Steve-O showed extreme poise or if they were simply too tired at this point to smack me around for my lapse in trail choice. Either way we were all starting to feel the excitement wear off and the reality of a seven mile climb set in. We raised our saddles and hopped onto our bikes for what was to be a humbling experience. Of course we started off running our mouths and talking s#!t about who was going to quit and walk first. By the time we hit the really steep four mile part of the climb there was complete silence. All of us had gone to “that place” where you do nothing but take shallow breaths, watch sweat drip off your chin onto to the top tube and practically bury your forehead into the stem as you pedal as hard as you can to crawl up the mountain in granny gear. Our loop took us back to the trailhead of 21 Jump Street and we were totally beat. According to our original plan this would have been the end of the ride. Too bad all of our vehicles were still parked another four and a half miles up the road at Gragg. I was out of water so this last part of our odyssey was a blur of confusion, cotton mouth and chocking on dust as I watched the sky grow dark and the rumble of thunder approach. Steve-O and I arrived back at the cabin and fifteen minutes later OG followed behind us carrying a broken chain. Twenty-two miles in all with only about five miles of downhill and we were finally finished. Yeah, I know this is pocket change for enduro riders and twenty-four hour racers but this was a pretty big accomplishment for three weekend warrior park rats. As the sky swirled above we had time for one last round of blank stares, senseless laughter and high fives before all hell cut loose with lightning and hail. There’s nothing like a classic day of having your ass handed to you to keep things in perspective. Next time I’ll keep my mouth shut and bring extra water.

We’re in the middle of winter again. While we’ve had a blast ripping up the slopes on our snowboards and skis, for most of us nothing will replace the feeling of killing it on two wheels. I was keeping an eye on the weather forecast and low and behold, it looked as if temperatures were going to top out in the low 50’s in the Wilsons area. Immediately I called up the crew to plan a ride.
Of course I got the usual round of comments like “Do you really think it’s not going to be muddy as all hell?” and “The high is 52, it will still be 35 when we start riding.” I put all of these concerns to rest and promised my compadres that I had carefully checked the forecast and that we were looking at a nice warm day of riding in prime conditions. I also promised that since we haven’t ridden in a while we would take it easy on the uphill and work a shuttle or two. I was full of s#!t. I just wanted everyone to come out and ride.
Only Steve-O and C-Los took the bait this time. We met up at the dirt mounds and headed up the mountain toward Raspberry Ridge. I tried to act surprised when the gate to set up the shuttle was locked. As we ascended the temperature dropped as predicted and clear roads turned to snow and ice covered paths. We unloaded our gear and got ready to drop into Raspberry for a chilly ride. Surprisingly the upper part of the trail was a blast. The snow was granular and lent itself well to certain degree of drift in the corners. It was packed in deep between the rocks and roots and actually smoothed out as few sections of the trail nicely. As we descended things got just a tad warmer and all of that nice frozen ground turned to six inch deep mud. Mud so thick that we had to walk because we couldn’t even pedal our bikes. After a brief hike-a-bike we regrouped and picked our way down the water filled last half of the trail. During the summer the fire road out of Raspberry is usually hard packed and in good shape. Today the endless weeks of a relentless freeze/thaw cycle had turned the road into a path of wet sand around two inches deep. It literally felt like we were pedaling through wet concrete. I expected a couple “What the hell did you get me into?” looks but at the top of the climb the fellas we in a surprisingly good mood. The temperature had gotten warmer, the sun was out, and by the time we rolled down Highway 181 to the start of Headley things looked as if they were in good shape. Lucky for us they were in great shape. The trail was dry and fast and we got our first taste of killing some downhill in a long time. By the end of carving turns, rock gardens, and jumping our way down the trail we knew we had to load up a shuttle for another rip down Headley. The second time was just as good as the first and when it was all said and done we were beat. What started out as a sketchy outing turned into winter riding at its best and a great preview of the ripping that lies ahead this season!

The heat and humidity of a North Carolina summer have lifted and the cool crisp air of fall has settled upon us. There’s no doubt that fall in the Pisgah National Forest is the crown jewel of the riding season. Those wild boys from Gastonia are no strangers to how good the riding is around Wilson’s so a few weeks ago we joined them for a day of ripping the local trails. We had a great group of fellers for this one; Guido, Wes, Morris, Mini Boy, Necker, OG, Steve-O, C-Los, Uncle Ronnie, and yours truly all showed up for the ride. We decided to hit up a classic peddler and set up a shuttle to run Greentown to Raiders to Harpers. It was classic Wilson’s fall riding at its best. The sky was blue with warm beams of sunshine spotlighting the trail. The leaves had begun to shed and the forest around us became visible again while the trail beneath us was covered with a colorful blanket of scattered leaves. This gave the turns a bit of drift and made things just sketchy enough in some spots to get the butterflies floating around in your stomach.
A trail like Greentown begs to ridden at full speed but all of us know better than to push things to hard at the beginning of a leaf covered ride at Wilson’s. It can quickly become a log ass way back to the truck if you get slammed hard toward the bottom of Greentown. All of us earned our turns climbing through the beautiful fall day up the backside of Greentown. Once we dropped in to Raiders the urge to hit warp speed in a couple of sections couldn’t be resisted. We were running the caravan of bikes so tight that it resulted in a few comical pile ups in the deep ruts. We were all laughing our asses off and having a blast. Flowing down Raiders in the cool mid-morning air feels like you’re standing in front of an air conditioner vent at full blast. Needless to say it doesn’t get much better than this. We finished up the ride with a quick fire road pedal back to the shuttle. A few of the guys had to get back into town to make it in time for work and a few of us stayed behind for another run. Props to all of the riders that showed up to make this a ride filled with all the things we love most about Wilson’s: s#!t talking, high fives, laughter, and ripping killer trails!