When most bikers think of the objective hazards of riding in West Virginia,
rocks, roots, wet terrain, and steep hills come to mind. However, my friend
Barbara and I encountered another of the West Virginia hazards on our recent
foray in the Elkins area. The state motto "Almost Heaven" came a bit too
close to being true.
But I should begin at the beginning. My friend Barbara is a caving
acquaintance from Washington, D.C. We met inadvertently when I was looking
for some trails to ride in DC during a business earlier this year. She was
the trail coordinator for some of the local trails. We had never met, but I
recognized her name immediately (cavers are a small, tightly knit group of
weirdos. Those of us who have been active cavers for any time know each
other by name, if not by face). We rode during that business trip and have
ridden and kept in contact since.
We arranged to meet at a well known caver's gathering near Elkins, WV (Old
Timer's Reunion) and ride some of the neat stuff near Davis and/or Spruce
Knob. And meet we did. On Friday my wife and I drove from Elkins to Davis
and did a short flat ride so she could become acquainted with her new toy.
That ride was uneventful, a little cruise along a Forest Service road that
parallels the Blackwater River. We then returned to Davis for some pizza and
beer while waiting for Barbara to show. I got the lowdown (not the down
low - which is very different) from the LBS on some single track right out
of town. We tooled around on that for a couple of hours, doing some loops
and dodging the rocks in the tall grass. The trail had seen some recent work
and was OK, but to be honest we have better stuff here in Delaware. I
suspect there is better stuff to be had in the area though.
On Saturday morning we looked at our options for another ride. Some of us
had a bit too much to drink the night before and we decided on a nice easy
nearby ride on mostly double track with some single track thrown in. After
some crazy maneuvers to extricate Barbara's truck from the massive confusion
that Old Timer's becomes by Friday night (it involved several large men,
most still drunk from the night before, picking up and relocating a car, the
owner of which was nowhere to be found), we headed out to Cheat Mountain for
our ride. The directions were unclear and we had a bit of trouble finding
the starting point, so we finally just parked the car and started riding.
The riding was pretty nice, an easy cruise on a gravel road along Shaver's
Fork. The road eventually turned away from the creek and we began a long
climb up the mountain (well, long by east-coast standards). I was really
enjoying the climb. One thing we don't have in Delaware is long climbs with
any semblance of elevation gain. We passed a couple of locals pulled into
makeshift camp sites with their pop up trailers and checkered tablecloths on
portable tables. Everyone seemed friendly enough (as almost all southern
folk are, especially when they hear what's left of my Kentucky accent) and
we exchanged hellos with them all.
Finally, I could see the top of the hill come into view. Barbara was about
100 yards behind me. This was good. The rest of the ride would be downhill
or flat and the hard work was done. Now we could just enjoy the bright
sunshine, perfect temps, and great views. As I crested the hill and just as
I passed a gravel road going uphill and coming in at a 45 degree angle to my
left I heard a crack. My first (albeit brief) thought was that Barbara had a
blowout (on her tire, that is). A second, similar sound followed almost
immediately, then a third. It was then I realized what the objects whizzing
past me and through the trees were, and they weren't swallows from San Juan
Capistrano. I took cover (or at least what cover there was) and waited. I
could tell from the sound I was dealing with a small caliber rifle, probably
a .22 or similar. High speed, but low weight projectiles, easily deflected
by even small branches. That was good because all I had near me were small
branches. After the first three shots, the shooting stopped. I could see a
man and what appeared to be at least two kids about 200 yards away and I
could hear the kids voices. Barbara was yelling for them to stop shooting,
but I'm not convinced they could hear her because there was a steep
embankment and a line of trees between them and her (I could barely hear her
and I had no barrier between her and I). I waited awhile to try and assess
what to do. I could hear the people reload, but this time they fired in a
different direction. I heard Barbara yell for me and thought either she or
the bike had been shot. I quickly rode back to her. She was OK and was just
yelling to see if I was OK.
As we were discussing or options (quickly) another couple of shots were
fired; one must have ricocheted off a tree or two because I heard the round
hit near where we stood. We were below the shooters with trees in between us
and them. So either they were just shooting randomly and this one accidently
came close or they had moved to the top of the embankment and were shooting
at us from there. We did not wait around to find out. We headed downhill as
fast as the terrain would allow (which was pretty fast). After a couple of
miles I stopped looking back, but I never really relaxed until we were back
in the truck and heading out.
I still don't know if they were really aiming at us, were just "playing
around" by shooting near us, or were just so stupid they would shoot
downhill toward a road. I'm guessing alcohol was involved, no matter what.
Perhaps it was the kids shooting and daddyo was too wasted to realize what
they were doing. If they were shooting at us, I'm glad they were not as good
a shot as I.
The next day Barbara headed back home, stopping at Spruce Knob for some more
adventure. I suppose I was adventured out. I spent the day wandering between
a sauna, hot tub, and the cold creek drinking pina coladas and listening to
my friends pick bluegrass.
I'm looking forward to some more biking in West Virginia, but I think next
time I'll stick to the safer rock- and log-strewn single track.
For Barbara's account of the festivities and a couple of pics, visit her
website: