Mid-Atlantic Foliage Ride

Benny was loaded up and ready to roll when I got home from work; couldn't leave him out front of City Hall on the possibility that the homeless would steal my valuable bungie cords.  I was looking forward to checking out the new CB setup before investing any more time in the project (worked out fine).  74 degrees on the porch thermometer at 5:20pm.  Traffic was only it's usual terrible self around Fredneck and I got through pretty cleanly.  The sun started to set as the miles rolled on down US340 across the West Virginia panhandle and far northern Virginia.  I stopped in Front Royal for a fillup, six of Sam Adams, and one of those pita bread things the 7-11 Angel hawks (NOTE:   they're surprisingly good); it's now 54 degrees at 7:15 and the temp is dropping fast.  I switch over to the cold weather gloves from my light ones; it's dark out and I have a tinted windshield and a tinted face shield travelling roads I don't know well- not real bright.

I arrive at Camp Outback after bottoming out on their driveway, see a bunch of Connies lined up (let's see Clyde, Guy, John, hmmm... I count about 5, so my math is off somewhere, none of which are Clyde, Guy or John- it was Kraig, Alan, Jim(?), Bob and Kathy, Stan and somebody else, I forgot).  I spin around pull up behind the last one along the fence rail and still astride I introduce myself to the masses.  Yada Yada, put down the side stand it sinks in just a little, don't think anything of it.  As I shift my weight to the left, the stand starts to sink a bit more, over we go!!!.  The rifle crashes into the second rail, I hit the top rail.  There are five or more sets of hands to right us now; don't let their size fool ya, these Coggers are fast.  Benny is finally vertical again with the pad securely under the sidestand this time.  It's dark, so damage assessment is difficult; from the jack-o-lantern bottom tooth spike, it's quite obvious that my Rifle is toast.  I decide to wait until day light before trying any repairs, etc. 

After the tent is up, Clyde and Guy land (when you see his lights, you'll understand).   John with the CSV is right behind them.  Much merriment was had around the fire; we listened to Floyd, smoked cigars, and drank some most tasty homebrews as we caught up since the last time we were all together.

John needs 252+/- miles for his 50k sticker and he wants to get there today.   After plugging in waypoints to his laptop, John figures Clyde's route looks close, but he wants to be sure.  I tag along with him, figuring it can hurt to go the extra 20 miles or so, after all as an IBA member, I feel obligated to run with the big boys.   We leave towards the back of the pack, with the human chronthermometer riding sweeper.  In my mirror, I see Guy pull into a stop about 90 minutes later; John and I press on another 30 minutes or so before our brief stop.  Just north of our rest stop, John heads to the right unexpectedly and I get caught be surprise.  By the time I realize I had the wrong diversion 50k route in my head, it's too late to go back and track him down; hey, I ain't that fast.   So I decide to "proceed on" with Clyde's route.  20 miles later my dashboard quits working (see Friday night for further discussion): Crap!  The ol' Specialized bike speedo is now my primary means of navigation.  I stop briefly for gas and continue on the route.  After leaving John and Guy's group behind me, I have seen only 4 other members of the Breakfast Club (they had pulled into a Mickey D's). 

Undaunted by the lack of companionship and other technical problems, Benny and I head through some beautiful valleys and really cool mountains.  Every ridge crossing brings another set of foliage changes; from the just past greens of the eastern ridges to the past full glory, dropping off the trees of the west.   Crossed over the "Finish Corridor H" track enough times that I feel I really got to know it.  The West Virginia Department of Gravel and Drainage Culvert  Expansion was out in force the previous week, so some of the corners were quite dicey.

I finish out the ride at Seneca Rocks, about 30 minutes ahead of schedule; Guy's group is already here (there's that quantum space again).   The Tom Summers' roll in and inform us that the campground up at Blackwater is pretty full.  After a quick lunch, Guy and I head up to Davis to get sites for the rest of the group.  The "campers' assistant" has bad news; only one site left (we have about 15-20 people still on the road).  The good news is were allowed to have two tents on a site and that a group of motorcyclists pulled in a little bit ago and took three sites- some of us are here.  We plunk down the cash, take the last site and start doing some head counting with the Coggers already there- it'll be tight, but we should have enough space and not violate the "rules".   Unfortunately, we're off by two and that means Rick and I got the Wimpy;  Guy took Kraig in, and it all worked out.  Dinner was had at the Blackwater Brewing Company; excellent chow and a stout brewed on the premises to die for and I'm not a stout drinker.  After dinner around the campfire made with the "campground approved", soaking wet firewood, more cigars, homebrew and lies of today's travels.

I rise at 6ish again, to the sound of Kraig and Guy arguing about the quality of the coffee/mud they had brewed.  Wimp is already up, bitchin' about being deaf from those two Dicks snoring; I have no idea what he's talking about :-)  It's just about freezing this morning, but doesn't seem to be nearly as cold as the previous morning.   We break down most of camp, haul our tents into the sunlight and head to the Lodge for some grub.   To use the word "grub" for the Blackwater Lodge's food is unfair- it was very good; priced reasonably to boot $6.31 including tax.

Back at the campground, the Collective is breaking up for the various treks home.   Alan has got the longest ride by far; all the way to Chapel Hill.  Everyone figures he's gonna get wet on the way home on top of it.  I hit the road just before 11, take some twisty road diversions before electing to superslab it home.  The temp on the porch is 53 degrees; it's overcast and threatening - I feel fortunate.  I get home just after 2pm, a little damp from the 60 miles or so of steady heavy drizzle I've been in and really fatigued; I wasn't this tired after my Saddle Sore run.    You don't realize how much that windshield really does until it's gone.

Thus endeth my 99 riding season with COG; I'll be on vaca for the BRR ride and unless the weather's nearly perfect, I'll pass on Williamsburg.  Thanx guys- another good COG event.