Bonktober 2003: Crazy Up in Here : October 10-12, 2003

as written/reported by Dos Equis. Facts might be inaccurate here or there because of the damn Jar...
Bonktober took place over the weekend of Oct 10-12, 2003. Bonktober '03 was the third incarnation of an ever-growing annual event. Mountain biking groups from Missouri and surrounding states came together at the Berryman Campground in the Mark Twain Forest to celebrate bikes, beer and fire. Over 70+ riders showed up to throw down and by the end of the weekend some had even thrown up.

It was all good.

Friday
Friday was the break-in period to set up shop and acclimate to the fact that anything outside the campground didn't matter. We were here to get away from it all (at least I was). I got down there along with Matt Stenberg around 2pm. Mike Donais had already spotted us some slots. There were campsites set up but he said they wouldn't mind. Good thing, too --- by Friday evening most campsites were full, some completely stacked with tents.
So who made it down from GORC?
Matt Hayes, Matt Stenberg, Mike Donais, John Donjoian, Tony C and Candy, Brian and Steph Adams, Tom Erb, Kyle Bova, Bill ? and by Saturday night Doug Rapley, John and Mary Farinella, Rob and Barb Horn had arrived (but I'm getting ahead of myself). There's probably some other people I can't remember right now, too.

I had cracked my Schlitz malt open while setting up my tent. You gotta have the bad shit first so the good stuff tastes even better than you anticipated. By 4:30 we were wondering where the two kegs and Tom were. Fat Tire Brown Ale (graciously donated by New Belgium) and Schlafly Oatmeal Stout were on tap the weekend.

The KC crew had arrived late Thursday and early Friday but were nowhere to be seen until the beer arrived. The STL crew had established base camp with the two kegs and glowing campfire for all. People started arriving and beer flowed. It seemed that Friday night was about casual conversation and relaxing as opposed to full-throttle partying. JohnnyD decided to jump start the party with a derby. I soon followed along with another guy named Matt I think on an old cruiser. Tom got his gear on and we tried to rally everyone into some mayhem. Nope, not that night I guess so the 4 of us proceeded to do a lightless night ride down the trail.

It was pretty dark but no one crashed. We rode three miles into it and took a fire road back to camp. This was the first time I had test ridden my Intense 909 DH 2.7 tires on the Surly and was shocked at how tired I was. Saturday would destroy me. I knew they were heavy but damn...
When we got back to camp many of the people had left. Stenberg was in bed, in fact. What the hell?? The KC crew had abandoned us for their bongos so we decided to just chill and drink the night away.

Saturday
The GORC crew were the last ones out due to the serious partying the night before. We weren't concerned out being first out on the Berryman so we took plenty of time to wake up.
We headed out as a pack going clock-wise. The trail, while serious rutting is occuring, was in great shape as far a tackiness and deadfall.
Everyone was running at top speed and my tires were holding me back. I fell off the pack but kept chugging along. Once we got to the Brazil campground we took a breather and had lunch. Candy sagged for us and brought our coolers of goodies.

Once everyone was satisfied we headed off for the second ass-kicking half. It felt like I was stuck in the twilight zone. Five hills/valleys later I was dead. Stenberg and I were off the back. We had passed several others on the trail from KC and Jefferson City so it was nice to know we weren't DFL especially since we had left late in the morning.

I made it back to the campground 15 minutes behind the others and threw my bike down and picked up a beer. I was told we had done the trail in 2:45 minutes -- pedal time.

Later in the evening the campfire grew and so did the crowd. Rob and John F showed up around 9 or so and that's when everthing got a little crazy.

John broke out a huffy POS from the back of his truck and threw it done. Being a little beligerent I picked up the lighter fluid and instantly doused the bike in some basting juice for the fire. John lit it up and proceeded to ride around the campground as the tire burned. Once the derailleur fell off it was ghost ridden twenty feet right into Matt stenberg's car. Oops. By this time, the moonshine had worked it's magic (yes, a second Jar was supplied by Rob da man!) so you could say "The jar made me do it" and everyone understood.

(I know at some point we jumped the fire using some plywood I had brought down but I can't remember (damn jar) if it took place about this time or after the next vignette below....)
Next, we decided to fire up those KC guys bangin' their drums, so John busted out some bottle rockets, firecrackers and roman candles. I'm normally a passive laid back guy but the jar made me do it. I grabbed my little bottle o'whiskey and headed up to their camp with JohnnyD, John, Stenberg and myself. He tagged Rob and dragged him along. Shots were fired but no one responded. John F fired one right in the middle of their bongo circle but they ignored it... What the fk?? We were reprimanded by the women around the site but ignored them. We did get the hell out after we launched more rockets into their homestead.

We would be back...

Fifteen minutes later we came back with Doug Rapley and Elliot to drink their women and have their beer. We destroyed the camp in search of edibles and we thanked them for the cherry pucker. This all happened while they crouched in their tents waiting for the madness to depart.

We headed back and chilled out - it was past 1:30 by now. John F exploded and then the night wound down.

Sunday
Another day, another hangover. Since some of the STL crew had come down the evening of the big ride we decided to ride the Berryman again but this time head counterclockwise. Before the first pedal stroke I was feeling completely destroyed. John did remarkably well for being completely trashed the previous night. Elliot from Rolla started out with us on a Fisher(?) hardtail with full slicks, platform pedals and a rigid fork. In fact, he had to duct tape his shoe before the ride to keep it from completely disentegrating.

Elliot lasted about 10 minutes and then we never saw him again. We presumed he turned around and relaxed back at base camp. John Farinella, John Donjoian, Doug Rapley, Bryan Adams, Tom Erb and me rode at a pretty good pace the second go around. The trail flowed much better to me and offered better downhill portions. We opted to skip the upper loop right above the Brazil campground and headed up the long asphalt ascent. At the top we headed back into the singletrack on our return loop back to Berryman campground.
The weather was perfect for the whole weekend with only a five minute light rain on Saturday night. After we got back and relaxed we all packed up, cleaned up our mess and headed back to the Everyday.

Can't wait for next year's Bonktober. Gotta bring two bikes and more lighter fluid.

GORC Road Trip - Sun Valley, Idaho : August 2003 Riding High in Idaho

as written/reported by Matt Hayes to the best of his knowledge. Facts might be inaccurate here or there...

Partakers in the quest to bring some STL hi jinx to the high country:
Scott Whitaker, Mike Donais, John Donjoian, Matt Hayes, Doug Smith and Matt Stenberg from St. Louis
Scott Nelson, formerly from St. Louis, now in Park City, Utah.
Doug Wright from Durango, Colorado.
Idaho IMBA rep: Harley Pearson
Former IMBA Trail Care Crew, Rich and Jen Edwards
Saturday August 2, 2003

• Depart STL, Arrive at Salt Lake.
• Rent matching white Impala "cop cars" and eat at the Red Iguana in Salt Lake, purported to be the best Mexican food in the city. Met up with Scott Nelson, the guy that used to live in St. Louis and rode the Spot singlespeed. He lives in Park City now. Also met up with Doug Wright from Durango. He used to be from St. Louis, too, and is known to ride the trails topless.
• Proceed to haul ass and arrive in Ketchum, the small mountain town next to the Sun Valley Ski Resort. Our house rocks, we are not worthy! Estimated at $750,000 and 2,700SQ.
• Harley, the Idaho IMBA rep, crashes for the night along with two of his comrades. Tomorrow is the Sunday Epic - The Fisher Creek trail system (25?? miles)
• But before an epic we must, have some drinks at the local dive bar - The Casino. It was fun, we all had our share. Matt Hayes got a bit trashed.
• Tomorrow would come quickly.

Sunday, August 3rd, 2003 : Fisher Creek Epic

• Time to show Idahoans what the STL crew is made of.
• Drive an hour to the Sawtooth Mountain range and meet at the Fisher Creek trailhead.
• It starts as a gradual 7-8 mile fireroad climb and then nearly doubles the grade for the last 3/4 mile until we peak. From here it's several miles of downhill bliss. The downhills in Idaho seem to go on forever. They're relatively smooth and very fast, very loose. Sorta rollercoaster like the back part of Greensfelder but much sweeter.

We come out into a beautiful high altitude valley. Harley tells us it's being threatened by the Wilderness Act. Over half of this trail would be off-limits, including this mesmerizing field of wildflowers. Over a mile and a half long and half a mile wide, surrounded by mountains, I've never seen anything like it.
After getting through the field, we drop (!) again and pass a swift waterfall. We haven't climbed for over an hour - definitely not St. Louis riding. Harley leads us into second half of the trail and it rides more like Missouri - rocky and semi-technical (a combo of Castlewood and Chubb). Johnny D, GORC pimp extraordinaire, leads into the switchbacks. His front Avid disc locks up a bit, checks it out, starts out - boom, he endos onto his head/face. He's fine but the helmet died. Idaho has taken its first victim - but he's not the last.
Nearing the last hour it begins raining - a cold rain. We hold our own and complete the Sunday Epic intact. 21+ ? miles. A shuttle picks our tired bodies up and drives an hour back to the trailhead. Beer is passed around and it is good.

Monday, August 4th, 2003 : Up, and Up and Up and Damn! Up!?
This ride starts on the road and ends on the road. Today we will do 33 miles. Ketchum has a sweet bike path network for miles along its roads - we ride 10+ miles before we turn up the gulch to our trailhead. We climb for about an 45 minutes on tarmac and then head up onto scrub mountains. Tons of suns today, no shade, heavy sunscreen recommended.
This climb is brutal. Everyone is feeling it. Mike Donais who had broken his collarbone 6 weeks prior was carrying himself quite well despite the circumstances. We climbed 9+ miles continuous (maybe more - I forget). Up and Up, steeper and steeper, it's not letting up. John Donjoian begins pulling away from both Matt's and leads to the top.
The downhill on this run is fast and somewhat sketchy. Loose and gravelly from motocrossers we haul ass through switchbacks and whoops. It's so dusty there's mud in my mouth and I can't see the ground where my tires are headed. I'm using up way too much karma on this ride.
We run into a herd of sheep in the middle of nowhere! Hundreds of sheep are clogging the trail and the hispanic farmer doesn't seem to care. He tells us to just push forward and they'll get out of the way. We parted the great sea of sheep and continued onward downhill.
Again John goes down. He was out front so no one saw it. He said it happened too quick when his pedal hit a rock. Nothing serious, we finish out the trail by crossing the gulch creek over 10 times. The trail ends at the warm springs. The frigid creek has two natural warm water springs that people chill out in. Doug Wright is a water nut (sea otter?) and doesn't want to leave.
Doug Smith, Matt n Matt and John head out on the road back. We draft a semi and keep a 23-26 mile pace all the way back to the house. What a way to end a killer ride.

Tuesday, August 5th, 2003 : Bike Death or Death Ride?
Today the crew splits up. Scott, Mike, Doug Smith head out to do an easier loop without so much climbing. Turns out that their ride is just as tough as the other ride that Matt, John, Doug Wright and Matt Stenberg go on. They are doing Chocolate Gulch. The ride is awesome until we climb switchback after switchback. We meet an original mountain biker out there still on his rigid steel hardtail. He's 50 something and keeping pace with us.
Stenberg begins pulling away from Matt, Doug and Pimp Daddy. Hayes says hell no and kicks his Giant NRS into 2-1 mode and catches up. At the top the view is incredible.
Matt notices his Rockshit Duke is leaking oil like an old tanker. Oh well, at least it still bounces.
We end the ride with a fast and swoopy stretch along scrub brush hill sides. Speeds close to 30mph are achieve and brakes are beginning to smell. Life is good.
The crew meets up at the pad and swaps stories. Turns out Scott put the hurt on the Ellsworth by pulling a JRA (just riding along) and cracks, no strike that - completely separates, his seat tube. The bike is dead. Time to rent a Kona Dawg. Scott likes it so much that he buys it! Time to drain the keg Mike Donais purchased for us. He's alright in my book.

Wednesday, August 6th, 2003 : Fisher Creek Revisited
Scott Nelson meets up with us and we tackle the other half of Fisher creek. He is riding Spot the single-minded singlespeed. He is a monster and climbs the whole 7 mile ascent. Matt Hayes reaches the top in 54 minutes, the best time. He climbs without dabbing the whole thing. He had a score to settle with that mountain.
We re ride the rollercoaster downhill, faster this time. Faster, faster. No one crashes. Now we ride the new section and climb again. Scott is leading us on the uno gear. Matt's fork is still crying like a little beyatch.
Awesome ride, one of the best of the week. The keg must die today. Not a problem with GORC.
Tonight we party. The goal - get Stenberg trashed - at The Casino.
Mission accomplished after he begins craving food and seeking out fast food Jack in the Box in a town with NO fast food joints. The vodka makes him slightly scary to me. Very solemn, gotta watch the quiet ones. Matt Hayes again has too many Long Island Teas. The Casino treats us well. Good night.

Thursday, August 7th, 2003 : Gotta do your own Thang
The crew splits up again. John, Matt H, Scott N and Doug W decide to ride the pain train and do a 26-30 miler to end on the week of epics.
Mike, Scott W, Doug S, and Matt S all decide to try downhilling on Bald Mountain.
Sidenote: Weird ass trip - Everyone has similar first names except for John and Mike -
Scott Nelson, Scott Whitaker

Matt Stenberg, Matt Hayes
Doug Smith, Doug Wright

John Donjoian
Mike Donais
Weird stuff. Anyway, the downhill according to Scott W is "f'kin incredible" and he ranks it as one of the best rides all week.
Meanwhile, the pain train is climbing and then walking double black diamond uphills. Holy shizzle, we end up walking the gulch for about 2 hours until we reach the summit. The last 100 feet is straight up the fall line, probably 25-30 degrees. But it's a postcard view! We ride to the base and are all feeling it. We stop for a crash junk food lunch at a lone gas station supposedly where Marilyn Monroe filmed "Bus Stop"
Six hours later we're finished. Finished in all aspects of the word.
Tonight we party. Again. The Roosevelt bar has good jammin' rap and dance mixes. Free beer for an hour. Good enough for GORC.

Friday, August 8th, 2003 : Quickie Downhill
We need to prep our bikes for shipping and prepare to leave at the crack of dawn. It's Doug Smith's 30th birthday so we gotta celebrate. Everyone is completely shattered from the daily epics. But someone spreads the word of just one more downhill on Bald Mountain. We didn't come all the way up here to blow a day without riding, right? Hell no!
We pay our $15 for the ski lift up. An hour later we're heading down the 9 mile downhill. The run condensed:
First couple of miles are on side slope of mountain with lots of exposure. 25+ mph.
Scott gets a flat, then this spare shreds while pumping it up.
Ride more and get into the forest. Dusty!
Matt H gets a flat.
Ride uphill on the downhill, ironic, but it doesn't last too long.
John D gets a flat. The sharp rock is brutal.
Switchbacks catch a few off guard and then we find the flow.
The ride ends almost in back of our house. Takes about 45 minutes to do - give or take a flat.
Time to prep the bikes. Riding time is over.
John, Doug and Scott head out to celebrate Doug's birthday. The rest of us are destroyed from the week of heavenly riding.

Saturday, August 9th, 2003 - Homeward Bound
We leave around 5 am to head back to Salt Lake. I know I'm gonna miss Ketchum. We get on the plane and come home.
145+ miles
The end as I remember it...

24 Hours of Snowshoe 2003

24 Hours of Snowshoe 2003

as written/reported by Rob Horn
Well as most of you know I headed off to race the 24 in West By God Virginia in late June of 03’. I kept telling Izak I would write a story about the mayhem for the GORC site and did do so only to erase the damn thing by pure accident while drinking quanities of Oatmeal Stout one night. It is kind of funny that it takes weeks or months to recall the mayhem of this epic event but again for the 6th or 7th year straight I have survived the raging of Snowshoe.

I have been racing with some bro’s from east Tennessee since day one. The team name has changed, members have changed, but the constant has always been that we RODE the damn course from the 24 of Canaan to the 24 of Snowshoe day and night. We always seem to hold a top 30 spot until about 6AM Sunday and then the brew and mayhem take the toll and we drop to somewhere in the top 50. We started off the year by re-naming the team. We honored our first and most awesome team director and partner in crime Skip Cooper. Skip was our only support crew at the first Canaan and has never let up since. We are forever known as Dr Skips Medicine Show. Two new bro’s joined the mayhem and it looked like we had a team that has some major potential. Brian “The Duckman” Archer, My self “The Rockboy”, Michael “Epic Dude” Ritter, and Crankin Brad Reed laid out the cash in January, committed to the rage, and begin to train both legs and alchohol tolerance for June 28-29.
Barb, Boone, and I left on Wed AM before the race for the far east TN metropolis of Johnson City to drop off B and B. Slam some food and brews and load up in buddy Andy’s big ass Chevy Truck for the Thursday AM annual trip to WV. We moved out bright and early to meet the rest of the crew, slam some grease and sweet tea from Pals and off we motored to the WV. Along the way we stopped in at the Greenbrier Inn. Four star resort of Epic stature to have some lunch and culture on Michaels tab (Thank you). We were seated in the far back reaches of the pad, ordered up some grub, ate while surrounded by people that have never even seen the inside of a Walmart (Duckmans qoute). Michael paid the $260 bill for 6 and we walked out searching for a Wendy’s to hold off the starvation knowing that the culture was good for us and the Greenbrier is one bitchin hangout. We hit the grocery in Marlinton and headed off to the house on the hill to begin the mass brew consumption and rippage of the most awesome course.

We unloaded our shit, drank a few to fuel up for the root fest and rolled out to a dry 7.5 mile course shortened from the normal 11.5. Man, that shit was good. Michael and Brad were looking at us like we had been full of shit about the course for the last few years and we just laughed and motored on knowing that their tune would change sometime Sunday AM when they had to find something inside theirselves that they never dreamed was there. We hit the house just as our other team pulled in with about 10 support drunks in toe. Man, I was fired up. Had not seen my mountain bro’s in a while so we opened the Quervo and started in. We woke up Friday AM to a downpour. Did a wet lap and watched Brad and Michaels eyes open wide like what the hell was that, proud that they had rode the shit WELL. We partied on, slammed a huge BBQ, and prepared for the Saturday noon start.

Brad was our lemans runner (man he can haul ass) and he dropped off the first singletrack in about 30th in front of our other teams (Silent Desperation) Belgium Paul R (who also can haul some major ass). Brad came in 4 minutes ahead about 30th and I took the money and brought mayhem to the mountain. Knowing that my old teamate Eddie “The Goat” Miller was chasing my ass blew me up and he did catch me at the Wall climb. He gapped me bad, I was hurting from not enough riding in the spring so I topped out and ripped the 2 mile DH to the finish handing off to Duck 10 seconds behind Eddie. I went back to the house , drank stout, ate, and got ready to bring some more shit down. Brad rolled in from lap 2 in 19th and off I went chasing Eddie. Tried to keep him in sight but just couldn’t bring the Goat down. He knew I was coming so we both turned a screamer.

When the sun went down we were in 12th. I raged the first night lap of 1:04 after drinking a stout (Penn Dark) at the handoff and post lap to insure hydration was high. Then went back to get my ass ready for the real mayhem I was about to bring down. My next lap I went out at just after midnight. It had rained like hell on Brad and we were in 16th. I took off ripping with lights on high knowing I can ride faster in the dark than daylight. I came up on Trek Pro Jeramiah Bishop (The dude from VA that just won the Pan Am games) and passed him in the knarliest shit that Lower Beaver Dam can throw at ya. He started screaming at me to go like a MF’R and when I hit the fire road at the end of Beaver I had dropped him. Shit, and this dude is one tech riding fool but I styled that shit in the dark. Just as I started up the Cub Run Climb JB came by me clicking down gears in his big ring up the steeps like a damn Husky 500. I was in awe as he was screaming at me “Way to ride that shit.” I was stoked and ripped on until I flatted and broke my chain. Still pulled off a decent lap which would have been sub 1 hour at night. Damn, a 1:10.

They woke my ass up at 4 AM and I was off for my fourth at about 4:40. My Camelback bladder blew at the start so I had no water but laid the pipe to it anyway. In the middle of Beaver I blew a buckle off my Sidi, ate shit over the bars, lost my shoe in the mud, finally found it, couldn’t ride the shit, had no duct tape, so I took off the left and ran bare foot for a while in the meanest shit ever. I hit the EMS station and a dude taped my shoe back on and up the cub climb I went. At the steepest pitch the tape gave due to mud and I flipped over back asswards with my shoe still in the pedal. Somebody threw me a ROLL of Ductape and I was off (never saw a human but all the sudden the tape appeared and no one was near me, cool voodoo good karma shit if you ask me). I was pissed off big time cause I knew I was costing us bad. Rode the wall but 10’ and flat ripped the DH passing two of the teams in front of us. Came into the tent, handed off to Duck, grabbed Pauls Penn Dark, Slammed it while kicking, cussin, and ghost riding the Yeti out of the tent to the amazement of the mountain bike gods. Damn, I just lost us 25 minutes and now we are in 22nd. Lucky I passed those last two coming in.
I commenced to eating and drinking in mass quanities. Did a shot of Hose’ and finally took a short nap. I was awakened by a get the hell out of bed. 5 more minutes? Fuck you, get up, you gotta ride in 30 minutes. Lap 5, may be my last, bummer. Filled my jersey pocket with Pasta and away we went to the tent. Forgot to fill my Camelback. Shit. Here comes Brad, 22nd place with 20 & 21 15 minutes ahead. Losing ground, hell no. Bullshit! I knew my Sidi blowing up cost my team a possible podium, We only had one other bad lap so it was time for catchup. I was gonna catch those assholes or blow. I passed the first one on the powerline DH wide damn open with my bro’s screaming to rip it. Note to self: Got way out of shape and the Jedi Yeti found it’s way through the SLOT for a ragin DH. The dude behind me tried to stay with but just could not hang with the Rock,, hell ya, time to roll, #180 can’t be far ahead. I caught him in a major bad shit root fest with water running down it. Passed him on the left sans brakes, blew into the tent and gapped him 2 mins in 1 mile. Hell ya, 20th place. Handed off to Duck and watched him Hop On One Leg to his bike. Paul tells me (Paul and Brad work in the Med field) that they are sure he has broken bones but could not be stopped. I started to ride after him to ride the lap in support and Paul stopped me cold, and said “Man, that’s some shit he has got to do on his own”. I was in awe, especially when he turned a 1:15. Michael went out and had a fun last lap to bring us home in 20th with no chance for 19. The blown Sidi cost us took us from 12 to 20th but I was good with that. Carry duct tape next time.

About 1:30 the pain began to set in, we ate mass quanities, cleaned the house all drove back to TN that same day. I slept 4 of the 5.5 hour drive. Andy says I just kept riding the course over and over in my sleep and fartin like a Bull. We hit Johnson City about 8PM. I ate a ton of pizza and passed out. Barb loaded the truck the next AM, we all met at Cracker Barrel where I commenced to eat an UNCLE HERSHELS plus the rest of Andy’s and Barbs chow. I was killed for a week, fired up big time over our team effort and still in awe of my good bro’s Duckmans effort. Exray’s show he had a 9” vertical crack in his femur. I raise me pint to the man. The X pro motocrosser, badass roadie (we don’t hold it against him anymore since he has become one with the dirt), and hardcore only ride mtn bikes now preferably with one damn gear, friend and teamate of mine.

Good friends, good riding, narly trails, 10,000 of your closest friends to party with, 20 of your some of your BEST friends to raise hell with, and another notch on the bars, and scars on my ass. If ya ain’t done it you better get to it cause it’s the wildest shit you can dream up and it ain’t no dream.

Rockboy out and dreaming of 24 in 04’

GORC Road Trip - IMBA EPIC in WISCONSIN!!

 

The GORC Posse unleashed in the land of cheese!! The Wisconsin IMBA Epic at Levis-Trow Mound near Neilsville, WI was the site for a GORC invasion of the highest order.

Several GORC regulars were joined by an unexpected arrival of the South City Crew. These boyz were bent on total destruction and they got what they came for.

Friday's evening rides served up miles of twisty singletrack, the GORC crew was warming up to the northern woods as we put down miles of the sweet & narrow.

 

Saturday's workday started innocently enough, but the late arrival of "Team Matt" from South St. Louis signaled trouble for all involved. These boyz can drink and party with the best of them! They did not dissapoint, and Saturday night the GORC encampment shook to the sounds of disco and heavy metal playing at top volume from the rent-a-car speakers.(Note: Those Suzuki XL7's have GOT some stereo!)

Later on Saturday night, the campfire was started and the STL posse dropped in and began to derby. The WI kids were not hip to our destruction and did not participate. We didn't let that ruin our fun and stirred up the action a little more with periodic chants of "BURN THE CANADIANS" and "MOW-NO TALKING", wrestle royals complete with beer showers. The Guinness was going fast and the destruction reached a peak with GORC Big Cheese doing a massive cross body tackle into the STL crowd. This party went on late into the night and many a Wisconsin-boy was heard to say "We'll see how you guys ride tomorrow..."

Little did they know our secret strategy...

 

The next morning came early (don't they all), and the GORC encampment rose slowly.

The Secret Strategy But many cups of excellent coffee and a Guinness for good measure and we were ready. Fueled up on caffeine and carbs!

GORC Big Cheese Johnny D unleashed massive style onto the Super-Fast group. Serving as task-master at the front of the group for most of the ride. Being the only singlespeeder, he had honor to uphold!

Team Jelly-Donut, in the Medium Group, led the ride and schooled the Minnesota and Wisconsin homies in the finest tradition to cap off an excellent event.

GORC Road Trip - Slatyfork, West Virginia, Tea Creek Trails

as reported by Matt Hayes to the best of his knowledge. Facts might be inaccurate here or there... The GORC crew planned a quick escape to Slatyfork, West Virginia, after John Donjoian (the GORC Kingpin) got word that his job was flying him out there. Not wanting to be left out of the gnarly riding, Scott Whitaker, Randy Houck, Mike Donais, Matt Stenberg and Matt Hayes signed on.

FRIDAY
Early June is supposed to be hot but Miss Nature decided to wet it up a bit. In fact, Mamma had drenched the trails before we even got there. The twelve hour drive ended on Friday morning when we arrived at the rustic Elk River Lodge (www.ertc.com) nestled in the rolling mountains of Slatyfork. The tiny entrance and small bridge over the rolling creek made for some tight maneuvering in Scott's massive truck.

We decided to ride our epic that day as our lodge host explained that Saturday was to be a complete wreck with even more rain. So we drove up to the Tea Creek trail network, unloaded, and started down the legendary Tea Creek Mountain trail around 1pm. Trail conditions were better than anticipated but still extremely wet. The mudholes were soupy (thank god) and didn't cause tire clearance issues. But some were deeep!

The severely rocky and rooty trail tested our handling skills but we held our ground. 2003 is turning out to be a strong year for GORC since none of the crew fell off the pace. At times it seemed as though we rode in Tea Creek with streams of water and debris following the length of the trail. A few people (ahem, no names please) crashed here and there but that's the price of insanely fun singletrack. Mach 3 endos, mud fishtails, and knee crackers don't even register on radar when you consider the overall abuse these trails can deliver.

Ah, but the best part was to come at 6pm when we decided to let our leader take us up an "easy" hill climb back to the truck. Little did we know that the trail we were on was the wrong one! We knew something wasn't right when we walked precariously across ledges that were sliding into the creek.

Or when the trail got so damn rough and technical that not even our best rider could stay upright. Yes, we were lost at 7pm, probably 12 miles from the truck, a little more than halfway into the epic ride. We decided to push on for 6 more miles of the hell trail to get back to another trail that would take us to homebase. As we crossed Tea Creek for the 17th time (literally), walking our bikes, feet wet, spirits damped, the posse came to a crossroads and we were on our way!

We got back around 8:30, had a few beers, ate a $50.00 meal at the lodge (Matt Hayes had 2 long islands to kill the pain...it worked) and went to bed. Overall, the riding was great, except for the 8 mile hike. What would Saturday bring us...

SATURDAY
Everyone woke up early to fat rain drops, wet bikes and a trio of fellow riders of the female variety. The lodge guy suggested Laurel Creek trail (8.2 mile loop) 30 or so miles away because it was designed to IMBA standards (mostly) and would keep the mud factor down. We hit the trail around 11:30 along with Aaron, a former GORC guy. He had driven down with his girlfriend (who rides strong and fast) from Michigan to meet up with us. A single speed freak at heart, he and Johnny D led the entire way.

For a while everyone wondered if the lodge guy was on crack because the lower valley portions were "creek" channels and grassy, wet mud pits. However, once we climbed to the peak the trail rocked. The swooping contour lines made for fast pedalling. Despite the wet leaves, ice roots and occasional rogue rock, the trail was buff for WV standards. The upper 4 miles ended with a 3/4 mile drop back to the valley. Sweet.

We got cleaned up, checked out Snowshoe, ate some dinner and drank the night away. We even came up with a new 'PG-13' team name. Matt Hayes got renamed Isaac to differentiate him from the other Matt...and because his hair tends to afro out as the night wears on. Beer ranged from Heineken to Icehouse, Honeywheat to I forgot. Degenerates for sure. We ended up trading bike stories with the female trio (Grace, Jen and Jill) who, in Mike's words, "Rock!"

SUNDAY
We packed up our skanky gear and left for the STL around 10:30. Johnny D headed to Virginia for work. Twelve hours later we arrived home after several deep conversations concerning crapping tactics and Church's Chicken. Once again, the GORC represented in the only way they know how.
Full tilt.

Be sure to ask about the Idaho trip. We've still got room if you want to go. The Slatyfork trip was only the prologue to the mayhem that is sure to follow come August.