biking_wv_log_greenbrierriver1

Greenbrier River Trail, Sitlington to Caldwell, West Virginia - August 1999

Day 1

Christopher, Dana and our fourth adventurer, Aaron (a man of few words), arrived in Lewisburg Friday evening for an evening's stay at the J Cobb Bed & Breakfast (my house). The next morning, we were going to begin biking the entire 76 miles of the Greenbrier River Trail (GRT).

Day 2

Going from Point A to Point B can be tricky. We had to figure out a way to get our bikes to Sitlington, the northern starting point on our ride, and also have a vehicle waiting at the southern terminus of the trail in Caldwell. We ended up employing my wife, Amber, and a few other assorted volunteer drivers to solve the problem.

We met our ride at Alvon, a little town north of White Sulphur Springs on Rt. 92. After loading our bikes and Dana into the back of a pickup, Amber drove Dana's car back to Caldwell while my mother-in-law followed in my car. They left Dana's car in the trailhead parking lot and continued home. Despite the logistical nightmare, it worked out. Just be forewarned that when planning a biking adventure on the GRT, having vehicles at the start and finish spots requires theoretical and mathematical problem solving skills just this side of Stephen Hawking.

It was chilly ride for Dana in the back of the truck bed as we took a circuitous drive up Rt. 92, west on Rt. 39, north on Rt. 28 before finally making a left on County Road 12 just south of Dunmore. There is a small brown sign on Rt. 28 signifying GRT access. There's an area to unload, but I wouldn't recommend parking here. We unloaded the bikes, adjusted our panniers, and prepared to roll away. But wait! Two problems immediately raised their ugly heads: In the car hopping transfer to the trailhead, Christopher had forgotten his food and I had forgotten my helmet! What would an outdoortravels.com adventure be without some monkey wrench thrown in? We've come to expect it. Food wouldn't be much of a problem; we could eat lunch or dinner on the trail, and someone could share his oatmeal the next morning.

As for my skull, we agreed some major head trauma might be an improvement. Just kidding! I would not recommend that anyone should bike the GRT, or any trail for that matter, without the proper head gear. Unfortunately, there were no alternatives for me. It was either go on or ride into Cass and hope I found a place that sold helmets. So I turned my cap around backward and hoped I didn't run into any trees.

Fortunately for me (i.e. the helmetless wonder), the GRT is flat, wide, and devoid of obstacles. Aside from the occasional large rocks or fleeing wildlife, it's pretty smooth sailing. The trail does descend going from north to south, but the grade is so slight that you don't notice. For all intents and purposes, the trial is flat no matter which way you're traveling. The northern portion of the trail resembles the canyons of Colorado or Idaho in some parts. Steep ravines rise on both sides of the river. You never really feel isolated on the GRT, due to the occasional houses or villages you pass through. But it's still a nice ride, and the scenery is certainly impressive.

We rode through Stony Bottom before arriving at the first of several tourist attractions: the partially restored train depot at Clover Lick. There was carpenter there working on the structure. We milled around talking to him for a while and then continued on. Not far past Clover Lick we encountered the first of the GRT's famous tunnels. The Sharps Tunnel (circa 1900) is 500 feet long, and there's a trestle immediately after that crosses the Greenbrier River. Several relics of the C&O Railroad still remained standing near the tunnel, rusted but still intact. Both the tunnel and bridge were impressive and added a neat historical element to the trip.

Approximately a third of the way into our trip (about mile marker 54), we came to the Visitor's Center in Marlinton, which is a converted train depot. We refilled our water bottles from the fountain and then headed for French's café diner that is a few hundred yards off the trail. We ate a leisurely lunch and then continued on our odyssey.

Most of the little towns we passed through during the trip were either unoccupied or consisted of just a few houses. Marlinton was a thriving little city. This is also the only portion of the trail that is paved. Aaaaah. It sure felt good on the old tush after the pounding we'd been taking on portions of the trail. Shocks are a pretty important ingredient for a mountain bike if you plan on tackling the GRT (or any trail for that matter) because parts of the trail are pretty rough and can really rattle your teeth. We took the opportunity of the paved trail to kick the level up, doing our best cycling team impersonation by riding in single file and taking turns drafting. This went on for a few miles until we ran out of steam.

We rode past Buckeye and then came to the old steel railroad bridge that crosses back over to the east side of the river. This is a great spot and gives you a neat vantage point to check out some of the huge fish swimming in the water below. Not long after crossing the bridge, we ran into Glen Conner coming north on the trail. Glenn was a co-worker of Dana's who owns a cabin on the river. What was this? He came bearing cold ones! We liked this guy already! We went off the side to one of the campgrounds, sat down to visit and quench our thirsts. Afterwards, we rode down to Seebert and Glenn met us there in his van. We left the bikes behind at a little shop and carpooled over to Glenn's cabin. It was a nice place, and we sat in lawn chairs and watched the river float by for a while.

After visiting, Glenn took us back to Seebert. Located across from the entrance to Watoga State Park, Seebert is a perfect midway point on the GRT. There is a small convenience store with a little mom and pop pizza place hidden inside and a separate game room, only 50 yards or so from the trail. We ordered a pizza, some beers, and cranked up the little jukebox. The pool hall was basically a little rundown shack that smelled like a well-used cat box. But we had a blast, dancing goofy to corny music and shooting pool. The beer flowed freely. Aaron, who had said maybe three words up to this point, actually became quite talkative. After a few games of pool, a few shotgunned beers and a photo opportunity at a sign outside that stated "Drinks Beer" on it, we decided we better get going. It was getting to be twilight and we didn't have much daylight left to reach our intended campsite, gather wood, and pitch our tents before it was completely dark. Teetering unsteadily on our bikes, we set off for our campsite five miles down the trail. I reminded myself to be especially careful, being helmetless and all.

By the time we left Seebert, the race was on for the campsite. We had spent a lot of time at Glenn's camp and in Seebert, and we were itching to crank the pedals a bit. Aaron and I must have had a little more left in our energy tanks or perhaps less beer than Christopher or Dana; we took off, peddling like Lance Armstrong on a healthy dose of Ripped Fuel, thinking Christopher and Dana were right behind us. We never really looked back to make sure, which in retrospect was a mistake.

After a couple miles of really hammering it, we stopped just south of Burnside near the area where we planned to pitch camp. We glanced behind us on the trail...there was no one to be found. After a few minutes, still no Christopher or Dana. Twilight was quickly fading to honest to goodness night and we started to worry. What if someone crashed? What if someone got a flat? With that in mind, we began to backtrack.

Within a few minutes, Christopher came into view. Not long after, Dana came straggling along. Neither one were happy campers. "Thanks for leaving us, assholes! This isn't the Tour de France!" was one of the choice comments aimed our way. In our blurred exuberance, Aaron and I had taken off and assumed our comrades were right behind us. They had not been able to keep up and were left behind. We had broken a cardinal rule: Never leave a fellow adventurer in your dust! After a round of apologies, we continued on - as a group - to the campsite.

Surprise! The plan was to camp at the primitive campsite between Burnside and Denmar. Only problem was, some kayakers had already claimed it. Although, there was room for two camps in the clearing, the group's glances at the ground coupled with their virtual silence, made it obvious that they had no intentions to share the site. What were we going to do now? It was nearly pitch black and there were no other campsites for miles.

Dana, still pissed from being abandoned, suggested we break up the squatter's camp and pitch our tent anyway. After a brief tense discussion, we decided to continue on in the hopes of finding some sort of clearing. After staggering along in the pitch black, hoping we didn't hit a deer, flip in a pothole, slide off into the river or run into some unseen obstacle, we finally came upon a wide area of the trail near Beard. It wasn't a campsite by any means. It was basically just the far edge of the trail near a house. But it would have to do. We had ridden nearly 40 miles, our butts were sore, it was dark, and we were pooped. We pitched camp and turned in.

Sometime during the middle of the night, we heard a familiar grunting. It was a bear! It wasn't nearly as frightening as the first time we heard it. I guess knowing what it was made it less threatening, plus the fact that these grunts were less resonate and not as loud. The bear making these noises was considerably smaller than the one we had heard during our previous backpacking trip on the GRT. After a few minutes, we could no longer hear the bear so we fell back asleep.

Day 3

We awoke the next morning to early morning fog that made way for another bright, clear day. It was also very hot. After packing up our stuff, we hit the trail for the final leg of our journey. We weren't on the trail long at all before we came to the 402' Droop Mountain Tunnel just north of Horrock at mile post 31. It was refreshing to enter the tunnel and feel the cool air. We took a couple of pictures and continued on our ride.

We passed through Renick and Spring Creek before coming to a really cool swimming hole just north of Anthony. There are a couple of pilings out in the river where an old bridge once stood. At this point, the generally shallow, swift running Greenbrier becomes a flat section with a nice swimming hole. We were hot, sweaty, and tired of riding the bikes. We couldn't resist a quick dip! We laid our bikes on the trail and stripped down to our biking shorts before carefully making our way down the steep bank to the river below.

There was a nice rock shelf that extended about 15-20 feet into the river from the bank that was about calf deep. It was perfect! You could wade out to the edge and then dive into the deep pool beyond. Man, talk about refreshing. We splashed around for a few minutes before drying off in the sun and continuing toward the end of the trail.

Once you past the town of Anthony at mile maker 11, you're in the home stretch. First you pass through Kisler and then Hopper and finally near the southern terminus of the trail. At this point, the GRT runs parallel with Stonehouse Road and it's only a couple of hundred yards to the trailhead parking lot. As the parking lot came into view, we were relieved to discover that Dana's vehicle was indeed there waiting for us. Four biking novices had just dusted 76 miles and lived to tell about it!