"Back then, as we set up camp, we were startled to see a pair of mountain bikers slogging their way up the very hill that, fittingly, we were about to tackle ourselves. We were mountain biking neophytes at that time, and we could only shake our heads in amazement at the two hearty souls and ask each other how anybody in their right minds would be out mountain biking on these trails."
Red Run Loop was the final ride of our post-Labor Day mountain biking extravaganza. The ODT guys – Christopher, Dana and myself – set off on our bikes with a lot of enthusiasm tempered by a pinch of the uncertain. On one of the maps we referred to, there were keys that corresponded to the color-coded trails to help riders identify easy rides from more difficult ones. Red Run appeared in dark, jagged red – the color reserved for the most technical trials. One description we read said, “Not recommended.” Uh oh. There’s no better way to tweak the interest of the ODT guys than to tell us something is too hard.
To make the ride even more interesting, Dana was on a hardtail bike he had rented from Elk River Touring Center after the previous day’s trip on Laurel Creek Trail had put his full-suspension bike in a “needs major repair” state. The loop kicked off on the Gauley Mountain Trail. This section of the loop is characterized by water break after water break, with lots of puddles and mud thrown in for good measure. The trail was flat and had some uphill sections near the beginning, but later on became mostly downhill. Although the trail continues on for many miles, we thankfully only rode a short portion of it. Did I mention it was wet? Although the weather had been dry all weekend, the tree-shrouded trail remained quite soggy. That’s the way it generally is in the primordial forests of West Virginia: the drying effects of direct sunlight do not come into play. But if we thought the Gauley Mountain Trail was wet, we hadn’t seen anything yet.
Turning left from Gauley Mountain Trail onto Red Run, the first thing we noticed was the giant, deep, forward momentum stopping mud puddles that you cannot avoid by simply riding around them. After a short break and some photos at the trailhead, we gathered around and gaped at the first huge mud hole, wondering if it was as deep as it actually looked. After no one offered to go first, Dana broke the ranks of the noncommittal and sped off without a word into the muck. With typical gonzo style, he mounted up and went riding off into the first huge puddle and just as promptly, sunk up to his wheel release in thick, black, West Virginia wheel-sucking mud. He came to a dead stop as we all burst out laughing. The wet, sucking SLURP his bike made when he pulled it from the mud served notice that this trail aimed to claim a piece of us or our bikes.
Tackling the initial boggy section of Red Run was just the beginning of what turned out to be a sadomasochistic adventure. I don’t think I’ve ever mixed pleasure with such frustration. In some sections of Red Run, the trail surface didn’t just have roots – it WAS roots. We were riding on nothing but slick, twisted, gnarly roots seemingly designed solely for the purpose of ensnaring the wheels of mountain bikes and sending their hapless riders into bone-breaking endos. Luckily, we could never get enough speed going to do much damage to ourselves.
And if it wasn’t roots, it was rocks. Having ridden Tea Creek Mountain the day before, we had discovered that we could actually ride good portions of rocky sections that didn’t look rideable at first. So all in all, we had taken on the infamous Red Run and not only lived to tell about it, but had a lot of fun. Although there were many frequent dabs, frustration, mutterings, and a few minor mishaps, we managed to do quite a bit of riding on this feared trail.
We eventually found ourselves at the intersection of the Right Fork Trail, mere yards from where fellow ODT companion Christopher and I camped during our Tea Creek backpacking trip several years ago. Back then, as we set up camp, we were startled to see a pair of mountain bikers slogging their way up the very hill that, fittingly, we were about to tackle ourselves. We were mountain biking neophytes at that time, and we could only shake our heads in amazement at the two hearty souls and ask each other how anybody in their right minds would be out mountain biking on these trails. Sitting here on our bikes, several years later, meant that we had either: (1) gone nuts, or; (2) had just now caught on to what those two guys had discovered long ago!
Some tough, technical riding ensued, complete with a very steep stair-stepped embankment (that we hiked-a-bike up), a couple of short drops (that we rode down), the obligatory water breaks, a beautiful field of head-high yellow flowers, and one memorable crank-deep stream crossing which we each rode several times for optimum testosterone manipulation. The latter portion of Right Fork is a long, long, wet gradual slog, I mean climb, with a few steep, rooty sections thrown in for good measure.
After another yellow flowered field crossing, we emerged from the woods into a high mountain meadow adjacent to where our car was parked. A memorable ride and a fitting conclusion to a great three-day weekend of mountain biking - West Virginia style!