Coldwater

This past weekend, me and the frere met Howie, Marc Hirsch, and Ed at Coldwater!

I hadn't ridden Coldwater since it consisted of a pair of stacked loops. In the intervening years, it had grown to around 40 miles of trail, and apparently some really gnarly trail at that.

Me, John, and Howie met at the Post Road Park-and-Ride in Douglasville and John shuttled us over in his classy new ride, with its classy new 3-bike hitch rack. Anniston is actually not that far from Douglasville. Less than an hour, it seemed.

We met Hirsch and Ed at the Monsanto Road trailhead, kitted up, and got right to it.

The whole east end of the mountain was new to me. The first climb was long, and technical at times, but not especially steep. I really wish I could remember the names of everything, but I don't know the system all that well. We basically climbed for a while, waited 20 seconds or less at the top to regroup...

...then hit some downhill. All day.

I remember Goldilocks being sketchy, probably because it was the first descent of the day, and I didn't have a feel for anything yet. It reminded me of the Bump Trail at Oak Mountain, if that trail had wheelie bumps and doubles intentionally built into it. Ed was ripping it, with long manuals, rock drops, and he outright doubled a lot of the jumps. It was fun to follow him, and I could kind-of keep up, but I definitely couldn't ride the obstacles the way he could.

Me and John both dropped our chains at least 3 times each. We both have clutched rear derailleurs too. I managed to drop mine, climbing, on a right handed switchback, which makes no sense at all. Other than that though, nobody had any mechanicals all day, except that at the tail end of the final descent, Marc flatted, but still had enough air to roll back to the car comfortably.

I had ridden Bomb Dog way back when it was just the second half of the Blue Loop. It was familiar, though a lot chunkier than before. Trillium was new to me though, and it was super fun and smooth. Oval Office had a lot of big tabletops, but none of them had much of a lip. There was one weird step-down on Oval Office that I could imagine getting confused by. I wasn't taking any risks that day though, and managed it safely.

The whole day was just one big shred fest. The trails out there have more of a gigantic skatepark vibe, and less of an experiencing-the-terrain vibe. I prefer the latter overall, but the former is tremendous fun, so it's great to have systems like that, just not EVERY system.

We ate at the Peerless Saloon in downtown Anniston, and my blackened catfish basket was top notch. With a few exceptions, fish is garbage in Atlanta, but the closer you get to Louisiana, the better it is. I figured Alabama was close enough, gambled a little, and won.

Croom

Last week I spent a couple of days in Florida with some friends from Brazil. Here we are in the Animal Kingdom beneath Pandora's floating rocks.

My inner monologue went crazy during the trip. It switched from English to Portuguese sometime during the the first day. I didn't notice the transition, I just noticed that suddenly I was thinking in Portuguese. This was weird because I know all kinds of words for computer-and-business-related stuff, but not for everyday stuff, so my inner monologue would draw a blank pretty regularly. The whole time, it was like the longest game of Taboo ever too. I didn't know a bunch of words, and they knew I didn't know a bunch of words, so we were both trying to explain things while avoiding the most obvious words that one might use to explain them, with hilarious results. They left Friday morning, and I had to drive back to the ATL, but knowing I'd have the whole day to myself, I brought my bike, and figured I'd ride the sections of Croom for which I have no GPS data. On the drive over to Croom, my brain was apparently trying to switch back to English, and for 6 or 8 hours that day, I had no voice in my head, at all. I had thoughts, but they weren't accompanied by a voice. When I'd talk to people, there were no words in my head to accompany the words that were coming out of my mouth. It was the strangest experience. I didn't start thinking in English again until most of the way back to Atlanta.

The drive from Orlando to Croom was uneventful except that I stopped at a gas station hoping to score some Gatorade and bananas. This was a mom-and-pop gas station, not a QT or Racetrack. They had the Gatorade, but were out of bananas. They did carry them, but the basket was empty. The lady offered to see what she had in the back though - she likes to keep fruit around for her kids, when they come by. After a quick trip to the cooler, she came back with a box full of something...

"Do you want peaches?"

"Yeah! That'd be great!"

And, man they were. Perfectly ripe. A little cool. The flesh pulled right away from the pit. I hadn't had peaches that good in years, and I live in Georgia. It was the most satisfying 2 dollars I'd spent the whole trip.

I arrived at Croom shortly thereafter, feeling a little short on sleep, but well enough to knock out some Florida miles.

It took me a minute to get ready, and a bunch of riders came through on the Withlacoochee Trail while I was at it. The Withlacoochee crosses Croom Road right there at the trailhead. During the Huracan, we pick it up, ride a mile or two, ride most of Croom, then bump back out to the Withlacoochee. Everybody looked hot and tired. Nobody seemed fresh. I wondered if I was overconfident about how I was feeling.

The trail was a little rough. It had apparently rained intensely, every day, for the past 2 weeks, though never for very long - 30 minutes or an hour at a time, maybe twice a day. The trail looked like it had been stormed on, and not ridden since. I figured I'd do my part to help restore it, however futile that might prove.

To a non-Floridian, the woods was absolutely gorgeous.

The space between the trees, and the dense brush here...

And here, the low hanging, mossy, Live Oak, surrounded by Longleaf Pine, who's fallen needles choke out anything between them...

Here the photo just doesn't do it justice. There are rolling hills in the background, perfectly visible in the summer time, despite being in the middle of the forest...

I enjoyed the forest as much as the trail.

Oh yeah... one thing I particularly enjoyed was rolling over pine needles. They lie there baking in the heat all day, and then emit a strong fragrance when you crunch over them. There's a bit of that in Georgia, but whole sections of the woods smelled like baked, crunchy pine needles down there.

I love it!

I also loved who well signed the trail was.

This was fortunate because I'd printed a map at the hotel, but failed to get a little ziplock bag to put it in, and it wouldn't have lasted a minute in the heat. I took a photo of it, but pulling my phone out all of the time would have been such an unbearable pain... Luckily, I didn't have to.

There was one chunk of the trail called So-Co (Southern Comfort) that wound back and forth over various little mine tailings.

How anyone ever discovered them in the first place is beyond me. In Georgia, there's geography to follow. Croom has some minor elevation changes, but nothing significant enough that you'd know where you are based on them. Different parts of the forest have slightly different character, so maybe that's how you can tell where you are. I'd be really interested in learning how to nav off trail in Florida, other than just by map and compass.

There weren't many distinct features out there, but there were one or two. This old bike reminded me of the lost-and-found at the pizza place by my house.

At the Smith Prairie Trailhead...

...I took a wrong turn and ended up heading west rather than east. I figured the trail would head south a bit then branch to the east, but no, it just kept bending around to the right. Apparently there was a less-well-marked trail leading east from the trailhead itself, rather than from somewhere down the well-marked trail that I was on.

No matter, I figured, I'd just keep going until I hit Tucker Hill, take the road back, and pick up the correct trail.

There was a little problem though. I mentioned that it had been raining... It had been, and flooding. And, at one point, the trail just disappeared into the water.

Ha!

The water looked like it went a long way to the right, so I tried bushwhacking around it to the left. The complete lack of any indication that anyone else had done that was a little disconcerting, but I went for it.

...and soon realized why no one else did.

That little pond was the source of the puddle that had swamped the trail. The water in the woods didn't look much like gator country, but that little pond sure did, and it was a long way around it. It seemed like walking directly through the swamp until I picked up the trail again was the best bet. The absolute best bet would probably have been to go back to the trail itself, and follow it through the water. My plan put me mid-thigh-deep for a while, but I did, eventually, end up back on the trail, which I followed from there to Tucker Hill.

The sky was huge along the road back to Smith Prairie.

Bigger than you usually get to see in North Georgia.

I found the trail I was supposed to be on, took it back to the main Blue Trail, and took that back to the car.

Feito!

I don't believe I've been as sweaty as I got that day, on any other ride, in recent memory. My clothes were disgusting. The worst part was that my gloves had been really gross, and though I'd washed them, they really needed to be washed twice. They were dry when I started, but they smelled really bad. When I finished, they were just that much more disgusting.

On the drive home, I grabbed some BBQ chicken at Sonny's BBQ, where there was apparently a conflict between the various members of the wait staff over god knows what, but one of them was being very loud and snippy... "Wait! Don't do anything! Am I officially off of the floor?" "What?" "Am I officially off of the floor, or not!?" "Yes." "Am I? Really? Ohhhkaaay (incredulously)." That kind of thing. I think she wanted to be sure that they didn't seat me at one of her tables or something.

My chicken was super good, and sat well in my tummy for the drive home, which took 2 hours longer than expected because of an overturned tractor trailer truck, blocking all lanes just before an exit. My AC eventually froze up while I crept forward for those two hours, but fortunately did so right at the end, and I didn't notice until I was moving again.

One more thing... There are 2 options for music in South Georgia - Country and Christian. Considering the wholesome nature of the content, it was funny to see what my radio displayed as the name of one of the songs:

Heh. Asses.

TNGA 2018 (Spectating)

TNGA 2018! The 9th annual occurrence of the event. It was sure to be a spectacle. I wanted a front row seat, so I headed up to Mulberry Gap just before noon on Friday to see what was going on.

Almost immediately I ran into Diane.

It had been a while since I'd seen her, but she was up from Florida for the weekend, so we got as caught up as we could. She's been hanging out with Jason, spoiling her grandson and generally enjoying the Sunshine State.

The riders were showing up left and right. I ran into some folks I knew would be there, including Mark B., Glen, and Justin, and a few I didn't (but should have if I'd done my homework and looked at the roster) like Asa Marshall. Koz was there too, and rather unexpectedly running the show. Jeff Williams had handled everything this year, right up to the last minute, and then suddenly had a family emergency to attend to. Thanks for all of the hard work this year Jeff, and thanks for pulling it over the line Koz.

It was a bit of a zoo as everything got loaded up.

But they've got the drill down pretty solid.

There was one bike though, that Andrew threw up on his roof rack, but it was wobbly and needed to be tied down. He tried to lasso the bars, but the rope got stuck on something, so I tried to jump up there and grab it. I wish someone had a video of me struggling to figure out how to get up on the roof of his truck, with almost nothing safe to hold on to. It took like 15 seconds, and probably looked like I was going to slip off over and over. I got it though! Wish someone had video.

One odd thing...

I saw several bikes with flat pedals on them.

Not what you generally expect to see... but!!! The number 2 rider this year had broken his foot, was still wearing the boot, and rode with it, on one flat pedal.

My. God.

I headed back home shortly after everyone left, but the next morning, Sophie and I were milling around the start, bright and early. We even ran into Norma and Johnny at a gas station south of Clayton, and then again at the start. Johnny'd had a tough couple of years. He'd injured his foot running and eventually ended up having to get a Cortisone shot to take care of it. He'd also gotten a tooth abscess, which didn't hurt, but taxed his immune system to such an extent that he was perpetually sick for months. He was finally healthy though, and finally back to running and riding too.

Norma works at REI and had a guy come in earlier that year asking about equipment for and info about the TNGA. She pointed him in the direction of my first write up from when we rode it in 2010. I don't think she told him that she was in the photos though. I can only imagine his reaction when he realized it was.

It was fun to watch all of the riders were getting ready.

Everybody has these little particular things they do. Sophie noticed a common thread among a great many of them though... Almost everyone was carrying a banana. I'd even eaten one from the gas station earlier that morning. 2018 was the year of the banana, for sure. We'll see how it goes in 2019.

I also ran into a couple who just live nearby, had heard that the event started just down the road, and also came by to see the spectacle. It turned out that they did have a slight connection to the event though... The lady's brother in law is Jim Parham. This Jim Parham, to whom I owe considerable thanks for publishing his Off the Beaten Track series, and in particular his guides to North Georgia. In the early 2000's, I wore out an earlier version of that book. That, and the one that Alex Nutt wrote. Without those books, I'd have been relegated to the in-town trails that most everybody else rode, and never would have gotten to know the mountains. I got to thank Alex in person at a race once. I asked the lady to thank Jim for me when she sees him again.

T-minus 5 minutes...

Glen.

Justin.

Mark B.

Lookin' good guys. Lookin' good.

Koz gave everyone the pre-ride rundown.

It was funny though. He started it with: "Hi, I'm Koz. I'm the one with the big mouth. Whoever's not here, raise your hand."

Apparently there were a few riders that were unaccounted for.

I managed to get a shot of the exact millisecond of the start.

I joked the day before that it's all about the holeshot.

I think that's Kurt Refsnider, who ended up with the fastest time this year, on the far left, with the holeshot. See, it's all about the holeshot.

One of Johnny and Norma's friends Linda was riding this year, and Norma was shouting: "Big ring, no brakes!" to her as she rolled out.

Ha!

Goodness.

They were off. Sophie and I went up to Sarah's Creek to see them come through there.

It takes a while for the riders to start showing up. Sophie remembered this from previous years, and brought her ukulele to entertain herself while we waited.

She's gotten pretty good, and she entertained me quite well too.

Riders eventually started trickling in.

I almost missed Mark B., who was like in 6th place at the time.

A big crew came through a while later with Justin and Glen in it.

At that point, groups were coming through every minute or so, and we were standing outside my truck clapping and half-shouting words of positive encouragement. There was a guy camping nearby, that we couldn't see because of the brush between us and him, that was no doubt pleased when we finally decided to leave. Right as we were pulling out, he emerged from behind the little stand of trees, and the look on his face indicated that he'd had enough of our disturbance. Yikes! I'll have to look around a little more carefully next year. Sorry man.

On the way back to MGap, Sophie wanted to take some landscape photos, photos of cool building, and the like, having seen that there were plenty of opportunities to do such during previous years. So, we did plenty of that.

For example, there was this pretty church in Clayton with pretty mountains in the background.

...and Sophie getting a shot of it.

And we drove down to Lake Burton too.

And got a few shots of the Popcorn Creek Overlook.

I almost forgot though... On the way out from Sarah's Creek, we drove down to Earl's Ford, to get some photos there. To get to Earl's Ford, you first have to cross Warwoman Creek. We drove up to it, took some photos, and thought a bit about what to do next. Warwoman Ford is interesting. The creek splits around a sand/gravel bar, so you ford one part of the creek, drive across the gravel, then ford another part of the creek. It had rained quite a bit over the past few days, and the gravel bar was almost completely submerged, though only under an inch or two of water. I could see where I needed to go to get to it, but when I went for it, it was deeper than I expected and water came all the way up over my hood. Wooohoo! Now it's a party. I remember the other side being even deeper, and it was definitely wider. Without more experience, and/or a second truck with a tow cable at the ready, I wasn't ready to give it a try. We hung a u-ey on the gravel bar, dunked the hood again, and high-tailed it out of there.

When we got to MGap, I took a little nap, uploaded a video of the start that Sophie took, and kicked back on the couch for a few hours.

Stephen McHone's wife (who's name I got, but since I'm terrible at remembering names, I don't remember) hung out with us for a while, and their tiny, and surprisingly unfussy baby too. There are multiple acoustic guitars hanging on the wall in the barn. The nylon stringed one typically has all of its strings, stays in tune, and sounds reasonably decent. So, I played it to the extent that I could, for several hours, and Sophie and I even played several songs together, she on her ukulele. We had a great time.

I went walking around at one point, looking for local wildlife.

That consisted of this skink...

...and this banded water snake.

There was a bigger snake too, but it got away before I could get a photo of it.

Sophie and I eventually headed east to watch some riders come through Helen. For the past few years, there's been a low-key party at Woody's at the end of the first day. This year, riders were welcome to camp there, and he left out some pop-up tents, a bike stand, and some tools, but there was nobody there. No party. Instead, there were a couple of people hanging out at the Quick-Pak in Robertstown. Andrew and Kate had been there all day in case someone needed to be picked up. It's easier to just hang out there than to head back to MGap and have to drive back over later.

The first few riders had come and gone when we got there. Another 10 or more came through soon after though. The riders were in one of two moods - completely shelled, or completely fine. Nobody was in between. Tyler Williamson was even chatty. We sat around talking about software development for an hour or so. I advised him that I felt like I was consuming his blood sugar, but he didn't care. He, apparently, had plenty to spare.

Mark B. did not.

"F*** you!" was the first thing he said when he saw me, and he didn't seem to be joking.

Ha!

That's about right. People thank me for creating the route sometimes. I usually tell them to feel free to curse me later. I've heard that people have done it, but it hadn't yet been done directly to my face.

Awesome.

Mark's blood sugar was low. He refueled, slept in Helen, and made it to Ellijay the next day before pulling out. I think Glen and Justin made it to Helton Creek Falls. Asa made it a bit past Snake Creek Gap. Linda finished! I was actually watching when she finished.

Eddie O called me, out of the blue, when it looked like Kurt Refsnider couldn't beat his record, proportionally. I guess he did some cross-multiplication to figure out what that would be. It's a bit of math actually. I was watching the trackers when he called and we talked for like an hour.

Next year is the 10th anniversary, and it's not completely out of the question that I could actually do the ride. It's funny, these days, there are actually plenty of local events that I can do to train up for it. Seems like this bikepacking thing has kind-of taken off. I even saw a Sweetwater Beer billboard on I-75 yesterday with bikepackers on it. It's so weird. I've been out of the loop for a while, and it's all so weird to me.

Tsali

Right at a month ago I managed to get up to Tsali for the weekend. I struggled to remember the last time I was up there, but it seemed to me, and to everyone else I talked to about it, that it was for a SERC race back when they were still having those... Wait, it appears that they're STILL having those. Awesome. Anyway, it was 10+ years ago, at least. At the time, the USFS was fighting a pine beetle infestation and was looking at losing the whole forest on that peninsula. I fared better than the forest, finishing either 6th or 4th in the race. I don't remember which, I just remember that it was a very difficult race, I felt terrible, I got passed a lot, and I was surprised how well I finished.

But, Tsali has greater significance to me than being the place I did OK in a SERC race at once. When my brother John, Kirk, Brooke, and I lived in Louisiana, we used to drive up to Tsali during Mardi Gras to escape the crowds. My buddy Jamie Satawa joined us once, and so did another buddy of ours, Jason Evangelista. It was a bit of a pilgrimage at the time, as we were new to mountain biking, Tsali was considered epic, and we tended to have a great time traveling and camping as much as riding.

Even after moving to Georgia/Alabama, John, Kirk, Brooke, and I would still camp and ride at Tsali periodically, and bring whatever friends we had on hand with us as well. Brooke, in particular, met a great gang of folks when she was in med school at Auburn, and we all rode together quite a bit. Kids, work, and general adulting cut the Tsali trips back and back over the years, but this past weekend, we were back at it!

Well, me, Brooke, and her Auburn crew were, at least.

She rented a cabin across the street, and a bit down the road from the trail system, with a spectacular view...

...and fine accommodations. I headed up mid-Friday-afternoon to meet her.

The drive up was fantastic. The sky was beautiful. I was a little worried about rain, because it had stormed some amount each day leading up to that weekend, but it barely drizzled on the way up, and only for a few minutes.

I stopped at the BP station at the north end of the Nantahala Gorge, which happened to still be open, hoping to score something breakfast-like for the next morning. Turned out they had pancake mix, syrup, and even eggs! Fantastic! The girl behind the counter was helpful and friendly, and had a thick braid of the reddest hair I'd ever seen. She was unconventionally beautiful. So much so that I wanted her to know it, but couldn't think of a way to tell her without seeming like a creepy old dude.

The next day, Joe, Ron, and Ron's son Jackson met us, and we caravaned over to Tsali Cycles in Bryson City so Brooke could get a new back tire.

There was once a bike shop at the Nantahala Outdoor Center, but Brooke discovered that morning that they'd pulled up stumps a few years back. Now, Tsali Cycles is the main game in town. And, it's not only a bike shop, but also a tap room. If you enjoy the adult beverages, then you can enjoy a local craft beers while they're wrenching on your bike. I didn't need any work done, but I did get a Tsali sticker, which now adorns the fairing on my roof rack.

They have a cool toilet too.

I love it. Someone spent some time getting that to work.

We proceeded forthwith to the Tsali lot, geared up, and hit the Thompson/Mouse Loop directly.

After a few miles, Ron started suffering a bit. He used to ride 24's way back, but hasn't been on the bike much of late. Joe was doing fine. It was hard to tell how Brooke was doing because she hung back with Ron.

We rode out to the Mouse Branch Overlook, which has grown up a bit and isn't too overlooky these days.

Upon attempting to unclip, Jackson lost the entire bottom of his shoe!

Ha!

That's a new one.

Apparently it was ready to go. I had some duct tape and an Ace Bandage on me, brought them to bear on the problem, and managed something that would at least get him out of the woods.

We all posed for a couple of photos. Brooke was a little uncoordinated in the first one.

And then we took off again.

When we got back to the main Mouse Branch Trail, Ron and Jackson headed back to the car. Me and Brooke and Joe rode the rest of Mouse...

...and me and Joe rode Thompson.

It started raining about half way around Thompson and before long I came upon a family with 2 kids who were struggling with how wet it had become.

"It's an adventure now, eh?"

"Yeah, I was just saying that to my wife..."

The rain ended abruptly and the trail was dry within 20 minutes.

I took full advantage of the Bike Wash when I got back to the lot.

I hosed myself down too.

Thompson and Mouse were exactly how I remembered them. They were exactly as they had been 20 years ago. I don't know if trail builders at the time knew what they were doing, were experimenting, or just happened to luck out, but they got it right. The trail is 90% three-foot-wide, outsloped, bench-cut singletrack, with grade reversals, and it has definitely stood the test of time.

Post-ride we headed over to the NOC. They don't have a bike shop any more, but they do have a great restaurant.

There are some fantastic views of the Nantahala River too.

While we were eating, we watched an Olympic kayaker working the course there, over and over. It looked exhausting, but she ran it over and over, the entire time we were there.

That night we played some pool, ate some hot dogs, hung out, talked about old times, and strummed the acoustic guitar that Brooke had brought with her. I still kind-of play. Joe used to play, but apparently cut one of his fingers off with a band saw (!) and when they reattached it (!!!) he had to switch to bass. He can still play, just not quite as well as he could before.

The next day Joe and Brooke both had to get on the road. Brooke lives in Maryland and it's a bit of a hike back. Joe lives in Tennessee, but had to be home by some certain time for something that I don't remember now.

I had all day, so I hit the Right and Left Loops by myself.

Right Loop.

Stunning Right Loop Overlook.

And, Left Loop.

There was this one spot on the Left Loop that was always tricky... The trail is notched into the hillside, and the hillside is mainly decomposed granite. But, in one spot, it was always just a sideways slab of granite, and unless you carried enough speed, you risked slipping down it and over the edge, into the lake. If the lake was high, that was like a 5 foot drop. If it was low, it was like 20 feet. As I rode up on the spot, I recognized it, but the lake was very high, and also, it looked like it had been dug way into the backslope a very long time ago. I guess I wasn't the only one who was worried about it.

I tried to find the old chimney too. Waaay back, there was a stone chimney, standing out in the open. It was right along the trail. You couldn't miss it. At one point, I had a photo of all of us standing in front of it. Since then, the woods has grown down into the draw, and obscured the chimney completely. I never saw it, even though I knew where it ought to be, and was looking for it. Later I found a recent photo of it online, completely surrounded by trees. I'll have to go back and look for it again.

Woohoo, Tsali!

I got a goodish shot of the Fontana Overlook on the way out. Or the lot at least. Not sure why it didn't occur to me to get a better shot of the view. I guess maybe it seemed like I could see the view OK from the lot?

After that, I made tracks for the house.

The drive home was almost uneventful. I tried to eat at a Mexican Restaurant in Andrews, but it was inundated with the after-church crowd. I ended up at the Pink Pig in Blue Ridge. I've seen the sign for 18 years, but it was never the right time of day to stop by. Finally, it was, that day, and I enjoyed it immensely.

What a good time! Great riding. Great folks.

Joe's planning a backpacking trip in the Smokies, in November. I think it's in November. It's on my list. It'll be really great if I get to see those guys more often.