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Old 11-10-2012, 05:58 AM   #283
jdrocks OP
Gravel Runner
Joined: Jul 2007
Oddometer: 4,591
The ride south on the WV29 pavement was uneventful, need I say fast, we were off route again, although “route” probably wasn’t the best description for all the road snafus. Between the gates, too deep watercrossings, and phantom roads, the route had been blocked eight times, the advance south painfully slow, and if we kept this up we would run out of daylight.

When we slowed for the turn east on WV50, two older KLRs pass northbound on 29, the first bikes we had seen, no luggage, just out for a ride. East to Capon Bridge, and the intersection with our ill fated route coming down from the north, I flew past our turn south on Cacapon River Road, had to detour through a freshly graveled church parking lot carrying way too much speed for the 15% slope, and when I tapped the brakes all the bike did was skid south in the gravel, pointing me at a big freakin’ ditch. I rolled into the ditch, hooked the front wheel, used all 12” of suspension, on the gas and I miraculously popped back out, riding over to where Monsieur Nix was waiting. He didn’t ask, but I had a fantastic hero story all worked out in case he did.

The Cacapon River Road is paved, but still a nice ride, with the river on the left, valley pasture or foothills on the right.

We weren’t scheduled to be on this road long before crossing the river on roads running southeast, then south. When I got to the waypoint marking the road and the bridge, nada, no road, no bridge, and I’m not making this up this story, the GPS showed a road running directly across the river. There might have been some sort or crossing there 100 years ago, but not in 2012…so that makes nine.

We couldn’t cross the Cacapon, and with no back way down to WV259, we stayed on River Road, then east on WV259, once again connecting to the lost southbound road segments, back on route. South on Back Creek, we had made up some time, and now we weren’t all that far from a possible spot to camp in the George Washington, but at this point, I wasn’t ready to double down on how that would work out.

Kump and Milk, both paved and southbound, no traffic, then reconnecting to Back Creek, also south, and we found ourselves in metro Capon Springs. We looked briefly for a convenience store, Monsieur Nix desiring a beer chaser with his tortellini if available, didn’t find anything close, and we were south on Capon Springs Road, running headlong into Capon Springs…the other one, the old time resort, and man, were they ever glad to see us, the freakin’ Hells Angels, and that’s the one and only time I’ve ever seen people mistake a DR for a chopper.

A big wet fart in the middle of the PTA meeting wouldn’t have caused more commotion, people were grabbing the kids, herding the women, and in general, runnin’ for safety, except for the teenage kids, and everyone knows they wholeheartedly admire depravity. We were bad dudes, as in whacked out dangerous…and that’s when I locked up the brakes, nearly ran over a loaf of white bread wearing an argyle sweater and knee socks with brogues, the spittin’ image of J. Edgar shortly before he beheld the pale horse, ya know, croaked.

I wanted to stop for a few vodka martinis and a Cohiba Black, but doggone, Monsieur Nix hadn’t packed any resort wear in those Wolfman bags, no embroidered ponies, no plaid pants, nuthin’. Damn, with embroidered pony and alligator resort wear we could have passed for Ivy Leaguers, slurped down the martinis, smoked the Dominicans, talked ETFs and derivatives, Buffet and Gates, debated estate planning, tax strategy and such…all before adjourning for the Caponchase. Can’t miss that one, I’m awesomely good at that there code cracking.

Your lodging, THREE family-style “all-you-can-eat” meals daily, before breakfast and after dinner coffee, before dinner and evening snacks. Sports such as badminton, basketball, croquet, fishing, hiking, horseshoes, indoor puzzles, cards and games, ping-pong, shuffleboard, swimming, tennis and volleyball. The Caponchase adventure– a code cracking treasure hunt! Evening activities including Bingo, concerts, campfire sing-a-longs, movies, instructional programs, dances and talent shows. There is NO CHARGE for use of the laundry or most of the meeting facilities.

We could have had it all for $160 each, plus tax and gratuity, but when I saw their security team mobilizing, camping came back into play, after all, who wants to get tazed, gotta go, and that’s when Monsieur Nix said “Do you think they would mind if we came back for the Bingo and talent show tonight, man, I love Bingo…I can sing a real mean Free Bird too”. Sure, I can sing “Don’t taze me, bro”, but I’d rather go camping, and we were back on gravel, climbing the mountain, riding south in low sun, ready to stop.

Back in the George Washington, and I knew there was a campground on the ridge, never tried it, didn’t know what to expect, but we headed there anyway. We found an unused campground, roads and picnic tables buried in fallen leaves, deserted, and unexpectedly free, no fee to camp.

We rode through, rode through again, picked a spot, and set the tents in the parking area, the most level ground, and we wouldn’t have to carry our gear down and back.

I hadn’t noticed it when we rode through, but there was a good supply of sawn oak firewood left under the leaves at the base of a stone wall, even included a can of Boy Scout helper, nice to have for wet wood, a big campfire planned.

I got things organized, started the campfire, easy enough with a pint of lighter fluid, sorry, no bragging on that one match fire. Dljocky was firing up the Jetboil, tortellini on the menu.

Monsieur Nix got out his camera, and I rummaged in the Wolfmans for a couple of cinnamon bourbon miniatures, let’s get a photo before dark…

The shutter clicked, I took a half step towards the fire, and Monsieur Nix said “Got any more?”, that’s right, his bourbon was gone in .0001 seconds, 1000 times faster than it took to get the cap off the bottle, call Guinness, we have a new world record holder. They need to change the advertising for that stuff, delete all reference to sipping, think of some other marketing ploy.

We dragged the picnic table over near the fire, now blazing, ate our dinner, soaking up the heat from the fire, the temp had dropped to 40 on the mountain. Talking over the day, we had been riding at a good clip for almost 12 hours, few breaks, in some wonderful country. Full dark, the fire burning down, it didn’t take much convincing to head for the tents. We were still in one piece, the bikes were performing well, but the best part, we get to ride the rollercoaster again tomorrow. Goodnight, and according to Monsieur Nix, I was asleep in 7 seconds flat, plumb out of lucid thoughts, …hope someone turned out the lights.

(to be continued…)
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