Talladega Forest nights, and days, and nights, and days...
So, come up to the lab, and see what's on the slab; I see you shiver with...anticipation!
…without a paddle
Well, as for me, i had been shivering with the cold of winter and anticipation long enough; so, after watching the forecast for what proved to be a perfect window of cool nights and warm, sunny days in the Talledega Forest, i headed South. Last year i discovered, among many lessons learned by great experience on the Alabama Skyway, that riding with a full bikepacking rig up and down a familiar topography did not translate to a familiar distance covered; so i rode the North half of the Alabama Skyway section of the Southern Highlands Traverse Route, making it to Cheaha Mtn at 2413' before turning back to the North. My return was practically guaranteed, and definitively desired.
With bike and backpack loaded full with food and water and my soul longing for warm sunny days in the woods, on the 1st of March i set out on my 650 mile drive Southbound. First stop: bank, as a little cash may be necessary for feeding into campsite tube drops or buying an autographed book from a hiking hero; but with the first right turn and suspension goes clunk in a way that redirects my second stop to the shop. A few hours later, with some new front suspension parts installed, Southbound really, destination revised to Chattenooga, leaving a few hours drive till the next morning. To clarify, bike and backpack loaded up equated to a 14lb pack, which is about twice what i should have; and the bike at about 60lbs.
Day 1
Wednesday about lunch time i arrive at Flagg Mtn to meet the honorable, and craggy care tender, M. J. Eberhart, aka the Nimblewill Nomad, aka Sonny; an author from many miles trekking by foot. As is customary i'd learn, he had a couple of guests, one getting ready for a through-hike of the AT; it would have been pleasant enough to hang out there at the cabin for the day but i set out up to start from the tower at the peak. Thinking to cut some tarmac, i took my optimism to the Pinholti hiking trail for what readily became an advertisement for a dropper post and some serious trials skills (neither of which i was equipped with); let the lessons begin!
Hiking trails ≠ bikepacking trails. If you can learn lessons in early in your journey, take it as a hint of how to proceed, maybe to backtrack; or at least a gift only to be reopened in the telling. A long 3 miles or so on the hiking trail, 50+ degree decent (damn, those Kenda Booster Pro tires were sure to be earning their keep this trip), hike a bike up several sections, a slide in the soft, dry leaves, uncertainty of how to get out...I'll take the few miles of tarmac upon my return (hmm, rings a bell from last year). Not too many miles on tarmac brought me to the familiar forest and well graded gravel roads, nicely flowing up and down for a gentle day. Came upon a giant swath of clear-cut near the border of the forest and the rural inhabitants, no idea why such a devastating effort was made, but such is the end of man. On the tarmac i encountered a couple of capable and ill intending dogs that, failing to respond to typical encouragement to cease the chase, needed a spicy breath spray to change their determination as they were angling for a bite. Today's ride ended with my face toward a grand view of ridgeline before me, gloriously illuminated by the setting sun; tomorrow will begin with a few miles of climbing. Empty primitive campground welcomed me home for the night and the western sky flamed out in red and orange till revealing the stars, so abundant, endless patterns and perspective; such a sky full of incoming light is quite unfamiliar in my sullen northern city's winter skies. As the heat of the day fades I am wrapped as the frogs sporadically sing, the stars spread, a lonesome coyote barks and howls (at a distance not too alarming), and my cape blanket keeps me warm; here fear doesn't entirely release, but freedom more deeply embraces. Campfire was not so successful, nevertheless, the intermittent flame dance was a worthy show. A couple miles away the main road growled, and occasional fun seekers, hooting as they grind along the gravel road, remind me i am not as far as i want to be; i apply and appreciate the suggestion to bring ear plugs.
Mental playlist of the day: Take Everything, Mazzy Star; 16 days, Whiskytown; Windfall, Sonvolt; carry that weight, Beatles.
Day 2
Mid 30's as i wake about 5:30 while the sky begins to light, stretch and drift till about 7 when the sunlight touches ground about me. Peaceful morning birds calling the sun to rise then resting as light warms the day; songs and all feels good to me. Before i head up into the day's ride, i venture downhill to filter water from a shallow creek, and about 10 a.m. with 70 degrees, start today's 34 miles with 3 miles up about 1k feet.
It's easier to remember gratitude where the contrast isn't so stark, and the wind blows up the hill with me; honestly, at my climbing pace, i'll appreciate the wind in my face just as well. Rolling along the ridge, rough and challenging gravel, jutting stones, mud puddles, sandy and rutted; a day engaged in the good work strengthening my will. At one point the bright red head and stunning plumage of a grand woodpecker swoop across my path, not within reach but I could feel the turbulence from its flight. Route between Bulls Gap and Porter Gap is passable by unmodified truck or SUV with care, but from the crossing of Talladega Creek, the southmost 5 miles of the Skyline Dr until Clairmont Gap, is inconceivable by 4 wheels; and what a pleasure! Vista's was the word of the day; you know how those are earned. With almost 5400' of climbing by the top, I made it for sunset on Cheaha Mtn, then, donning a wind jacket since mid-fifties at 35-40mph feels a bit chilly, a quick few miles south, down to make a camp near Turnupseed Campground; good night for a successful test of the alcohol burner rather than gathering sticks. Coyotes still outnumbered by stars, but not alone tonight; but it was a pleasant creek and exhaustion that lulled me to sleep.
Mental playlist of the day: Bali eyes, Porno for Pyros; Dire Wolf, Grateful Dead; some of yesterday's tunes and random Wilco bits. And a spinning adaptation of Dory's just keep swimming.
Day 3
Camped next to a creek on some recently flooded ground makes for a damp, clammy night; albeit beautiful. Another relaxed morning starting in the low 40's and quickly warming with the sun by my late morning departure. Met a couple of older guys headed toward the falls, one, I gathered, is a regular visitor with Sonny at Flagg Mtn; one who provides so many connections is certainly a gift. How far to go today? Not far, but long; adventure exploring was today's way. Gravel roads quickly giving way to dirt doubletrack, and again to totally unused and overgrown, treefall laden path; come to the creek and contemplating more unknown wrestling it seemed that upstream would be the most direct path to Cheaha Falls. As i slogged up the creek to get to the falls, pushing, pulling and balancing with the bike, i barely kept the level below the fork crown and my thighs; sometimes when you learn a lesson it's too late to turn back, and what you have to turn back to isn't really better anyway. I surely should've brought chain lube (like i did last year). The falls were a nice rest, though my thought of swimming was doused by nearly an hour of trapesing upstream already, and that snake inches from my hand as i balanced on the slippery rocks, as i quickly withdrew it slithered into the water and i decided a swim was unnecessary; just a little gray snake but what do i know, except that it was rather chilly water coming down the mountain. Ride more single-track, er, hiking trail to get back to the roads, um, once upon a time roads; so few miles, so much work. "Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads." A lot of hike-a-, or rather, heave-a-bike, when your first 8 miles is 1200', takes 3 1/2 hours and average speed is about three and a half, you know you've been hiking. I may have hollered hallelujah when i finally heaved forth from the woods, and fallen woods, and thorny undergrowth onto real gravel roads; even the tarmac was a relief. My aversion to tarmac certainly exacted a heavy toll today, and the scratches all over my legs prove that nature won. Coming back down the southern end of the skyway was so brutal i was happy for some climbing to rest my upper body and hands; i rolled across the highway and a little bit up the gravel at Porter Gap as dark convinced me any campable spot would do. Another night for the alcohol burner, and apparently an unfulfilled hope that the dogs in the valley would quiet for the night. In the, well, creek crossing, one of my fork bags leaked; thankfully just got the rain fly a bit wet. This is the night that desperation began to note that i should've brought more non sweet food; i really wanted a burger, this food miscalculation would come to a head as day 4 wore on. While on the topic of awareness, it should be understood that the southern half of the Alabama Skyway is much more rugged than the northern. Oh, it feels good to lay down. I could do this all night; and hope to. Brief glimpse of orange crescent smiling through the trees just above the ridge. Less songs played in my mind today because it was necessary to navigate so much, and there was significant debate regarding said navigation.
Mental playlist of the day: Behind the Sun, Red Hot Chili Pepers; Ocean Size, Jane's Addiction; Forget the Flowers, Wilco; and Windfall by Sonvolt again.
Day 4
I sleep better in the soft light of rising day with the songs of birds, but only in dreams, dreams of commotion, no peace. My hands feel sticky and blisters are beginning, pretty beat up shoulders too; that would be a regular reminder throughout today. Morning winds sweeping like a tide with no shore, rising and falling across the ridges, valleys, trees and endless sky; now the windscreen for my stove earns its place in the packlist. Last night was more an experiment in how many ways i could configure myself in the 'sleeping' bag. Dogs were occasionally worked up, and at one point it sounded like there was a full on skirmish with coyotes; at one point there were a few guys stopped at the entrance to this camp/dumping site, headlights beaming just above my tent, them talking such thick southern i only caught "let's go", and 3 bangs, presumably doors and a hard stomped right pedal, gravel grinding the American way they sped on up the mountain. I don't know if they saw me and changed destinations, maybe the pinecones i hung over the reflective loops on my tent were unnecessary; but such was my desire not to be noticed. Here, back on the motorable section of Horns Mountain Rd, it is not surprising that Saturday is much busier compared Thursday, when i saw few others; i don't resent, as i too am drawn to test the abilities of my 3 pedal, four wheel machine, let alone moto on such a road. But i regarded my Honda CR-V's subtle hint of needing it's sway bars replaced the day I left, as a hint not to push it's off-road limits; i suppose i could have interpreted that as suggesting it's ready again for off-road action, but my priorities were on two pedals and my own power. I encountered a caravan of a dozen Land Cruisers, of both Toyota and Lexus brands, plus another random dozen pickups, Jeeps and such, maybe less than a dozen moto's and a couple ATV's. When i started today with half a water bottle at a quarter past 11, it being 72 degrees, full sun exposure and 3.5 miles up to go; the runoff wasn't running so I made a stop to filter a bottle of desperation ditch water which got me back to my first night's camp for a full refill from that familiar and decent creek. Occasional puffy clouds and powerful wind were the most welcome guests, until of course, while i was laying over the bars, dragging myself the last 15 miles on the road into the wind. I was pretty blown by halfway through the day, and i wouldn't have designed my longest mileage for the last day on purpose; but as hard as all was, i enjoyed finally following the sunlight rising up Flagg Mtn as the sun set, that great red ball slipped into the horizon just before i made the top. There, close to his home, i met a few more of Sonny's friends as i arrived (though he was away to Springer Mtn for the annual through-hike kick-off events), then dumped my bike and gear in the car, got the book he signed for me, and being gripped with hunger i despaired to find that Sylacauga, the nearest civilization with restaurants was an hour and a half away (less by my way, as i could easily push those pedals). The moon's crecent smile was not alone as we shone and i bid adieu to this excellent adventure.
Mental playlist of the day: Was I in Your Dreams, Wilco; Slow Ride, Foghat; AEnema, Tool; Sweet Disposition, The Temper Trap; Me and My uncle, Grateful Dead; Dirty Water, These Days & Feeling Lucky, Jesus and Mary Chain; some Red Hot Chili Pepers again; more Wilco; Going Down the Road, Grateful Dead; Ain't No Tellin, Jimi Hendrix.
Thoughts after the facts: Why didn't i at least have a bag of chips waiting in the car? I'm pretty sure i didn't drink enough water until the last two days, salt deprivation was a tangible feeling; my body couldn't take any more sweet trail snack food. My dinners were good but i needed more non-sweet sustinance at night; my traditional quinoa, dates, walnuts and honey breakfasts were a bit too heavy.
After an expedited drive, a mediocre Mexican meal was nevertheless really satisfying tonight; with a touch of reason, i made myself stop at a basket and a half of chips and salsa.
Gathering some more facts in reflection: i'm super impressed and amazed my tires and wheels (700x42 Kenda Booster Pro on GRX) took all that abuse, nevertheless; i definitely should've used my other set (27.5x2.1 Kenda Small Block Eight on GRX) for peace of mind, stability and less rim-smacking action. Hatchet = unnecessary. 2.5lb of trail mix = 1.5lb too much. Sunblock = just right.
Getting gas on the outskirts of Birmingham amidst the construction, traffic and noise, my attention is rapt with a song bird on a wire, singing louder than the stars shine, a symphony of great proportion; it then flew down to the Magnolia bush to rout other birds from its space. Driving up Route 31 i was stunned by a modern hospital campus with old and new buildings bearing graffiti all over the first couple of floors and several floors of windows broken, debris falling out, chaotic and strange like a warzone; if i hadn't seen it i wouldn't believe you did. The surrounding area much the same desolate vacated remnants of civilization. I'd like to have a picture to share but i couldn't have taken just one and my brain was too busy processing the confusing reality of what i saw.
Sometimes i think maybe my slogan or bumper sticker should be: I'm from here, that's why I'm leaving.
Headed home, travelling Northward among people flogging their jacked-up bricks at at 90 miles an hour and blaming the president, not their president, for high gas prices; some lessons may yet be learned (optimism prevailing).
Flagg Mtn, at 1152', is the Southern terminus of the Pinhoti trail and effectively the end of the Appalachian Mtn range. While this trip fulfills my Alabama Skyway section of the Southern Highlands Traverse, other routes southward and the pending Eastern Divide Trail will certainly call me here again; besides, Sonny has tales and a chair to share...many reasons to look forward to more time.
