In previous blogs, I said my brother and I had many mountain bike riding excursions. Some were enjoyable and leisurely, some were exciting and exhilarating, others were just downright frightening and ridiculous. This one is all of the above.
We set out one Saturday morning for Amicalola Falls State park in North Georgia . We planned a day trip to ride the mountain trail there that went by the falls. Back then, it was about a 10 mile bike trail and not too difficult. Being the stubborn idiots we are and not learning from previous experience, we packed a couple of bottles of water and a candy bar each. Apparently, we are very slow learners.
We drove the two hours from Augusta
There are many questions in life that remain a mystery. Such as:
Why are there only 3 deposit slips in the back of a 200 count book of checks?
What is the handicapped parking situation at the Special Olympics? (Seinfeld)
Why is it, the more expensive the bar of soap, the faster it dissolves?
Why do they call it alcoholics anonymous if you have to stand up and announce your name?
Why do we trust people in uniform, such as Park Rangers, to tell us the truth?
At the bottom of the falls we stopped off for a few photos then drove up the steep winding road to the top of the falls where the trail began. We unloaded our bikes, chatted with a few of the other riders that day, and hopped on the trail, map in hand.
Birds chirped, the sky was bright blue, it was fall, and the temperature was about 55 degrees in the daytime and in the 30s at night. All in all it was a beautiful day for bike riding.
As we rode along, we noticed that the crowd of riders slowly thinned out and our single-track trail turned into a double-track jeep trail. We took a little break, checked our map and assured ourselves we were on the right trail. As we headed on further, our double-track turned into a dirt road with houses and farms along each side. An old farmer in a very old pick-up truck came towards us, slowed downed, and stopped next to us. He looked like he had just stepped out of an old black and white western (honestly there was not one bit of color in him or his truck). His lips were severely chapped and he had only a few teeth. I half expected the theme song from ‘The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly’ to start playing. After a few hellos, and small talk about the weather, we asked the old codger if we were on the Amicalola Falls Trail. He nodded and said “Yep, you’re on the right trail alright. Hell of a Hill…Fun Though!” and he drove off cackling like an escaped mental patient. We should have turned around then.
So, having confirmed the directions from the crazy man, we headed for the hill.
The word “hill” was a major understatement. It was a mountain, a great big mountain, and it was straight up. The trail was covered in rocks ranging in size from pea gravel to boulders. We spent most of our time pushing our bikes because of the steepness and the slipperiness of all the rocks. We stopped several times to take a break, even considering a nap. “Hell of a Hill…Fun Though!” was repeated by us numerous times as we struggled to make it. After about an hour or so, we finally reached the summit. We took our cameras and snapped numerous photos of the amazing view atop Mount Everest (well, it seemed like it at the time).
Now for the payoff. We took off down the other side of the mountain. No rocks, just smooth double-track. We must have been going 45 mph coasting down that mountain. We flew across wooden bridges, through streams, some of them so deep we had to raise our feet off the pedals to keep from getting soaked. It was a blast. After a while the road leveled out and it was an easy ride.
We rode, passed the time yapping and laughing at the old farmer, and soon we realized it was getting late. We were having so much fun that we had forgotten about the time. We had begun the day about 9am and should have been back by noon at the latest. It was now 4pm and we were out of food and water. We consulted our map and couldn’t find where we would have made a mistake.
We rode, passed the time yapping and laughing at the old farmer, and soon we realized it was getting late. We were having so much fun that we had forgotten about the time. We had begun the day about 9am and should have been back by noon at the latest. It was now 4pm and we were out of food and water. We consulted our map and couldn’t find where we would have made a mistake.
Hmmm…I shouldn’t have taken that left at Albuquerque
As we rode, our trail turned into a dirt road and then into a housing community. Some homeowners were out working in their yards, so we asked one of them if we were still on the Amicalola Falls Trail. The reply made our spleen quiver as he said “The what?” Not getting discouraged yet, we asked another person how to get to the falls from here. His reply “Um, I’m really not sure how to get there from here”.
Ok, time to get concerned. We were lost. We checked out our bike computers that indicated mileage and we had already traveled about 18 miles, almost twice what we had planned.
Getting a little more concerned, especially without food and water, we picked it up a notch and pedaled onward. Very briefly we had considered going back the way we came, back up the mountain, but knew we wouldn’t be sure where we had made the wrong turn anyways. “Hell of a Hill…Fun Though!”
In the fall in Georgia
After a few miles and darkness setting in, my brother had enough. He stopped on the side of the road in a grassy spot, turned his bike upside down and collapsed. He said “I will stay here and pretend that I need help and my bike is broken and maybe someone will stop to give me a ride”. I said I would go on, and if I survived and make it to the Ranger Station, I would get the Ranger to come back and pick him up.
I rode and rode, expending all my energy fighting hunger pains and dry mouth. At about 6pm and getting very dark, I saw a sign that said ‘AMICALOLA FALLS STATE PARK
As I rolled into the Ranger Station I looked at my mileage and it read 31 miles. The same Ranger that we had gotten the map from earlier that morning was just locking up. I had barely made it. I explained the situation and begged him to take me in his truck back to get my brother. Having a long day himself, and craving the dinner that waited for him on the table at home, he reluctantly agreed. He could see how exhausted and beat up I was and how worried I was about my brother. We rode back a few miles and there was my brother lying in the same spot I had left him. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive, but he slowly looked up and was never happier to see anyone in all his life. The Ranger took us and our bikes back to our truck at the TOP of the falls, where we never would have made it ourselves.
Before we got out of the truck, we asked where we had made the critical mistake. The Ranger’s reply was “Oh, when you reached the summit of that mountain, you should have taken the small unmarked trail on the right that is kind of hard to see and it would have taken you the mile or so to the falls and back to the parking lot.”
I was too tired to kill him.
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