Once again getting out of the metro area on Friday was a nightmare. We were trying to hook up with our new buddy “Earl” who was leading an evening ride out of the parking lot at the Whitcomb Summit Motel down the Ice Cream Trail. Our four and a half hour ride took seven hours, so Earl was long gone by the time we got up to Whitcomb Summit. Mike “YJ”, Mark Silverback and Bob Two-Jeeps headed out for a quick ride anyway. I sat in my cabin and started in on the beer. After a while we all gathered around Cabin 11 for some socializing and eventually all drifted off to their respective quarters and a night’s sleep.
Saturday dawned dismal, dank and dreary. Wind still scoured the peaks from out of the east, driving pellets of rain like b.b.’s before it. The club turnout was light, even considering the weather. We all gathered at the foot of the observation tower, in our trucks, of course, and headed out for the air-down spot down in the Savoy Mountain State Forest. Hardy ‘wheelers who made it included Doug Poobah and Bark, Mark Silverback, Bob Two Jeeps (solo this time), Marc R. with Lena, Bob Scoutmaster with his sidekick Red, Rob “Thrasher”, and Mikey B. with Denise.
The wind wasn’t whipping as hard down off the summit, in the forest. We aired down in the rain and made our way down to the foot of xxx Road. The trail today presented some new challenges; the preceding 30 hours or so of rain added to the challenge of finding traction on the slick rocks, and the torrents that continued to cascade down the trail even as we drove up continually re-sculpted portions of the trail before our eyes. Although the rain did not have that much affect on the major obstacles in the trail, other areas that one might remember as slightly tricky rocky sections of the trail were transformed into full-blown waterfalls as the road-bed gathered run-off from across the mountain’s slope and funneled it down sections of xxx Road.
Climbing the last major obstacle, the double shelf some call Two-Step, Thrasher’s XJ let out a chatter that sounded like gears shearing to everyone standing there. After some quick examination, Rob parked his Jeep and climbed in with Two-Jeeps to finish the run. After the Mudhole they’d turn around and come back for Thrasher’s Jeep while the rest of us were to continue on out to Central Shaft Road.
The rain also filled all the mud holes and puddles to their maximum depths. The big Mudhole was as full as I’ve seen it in two years, about 30” deep on the left (water) side, and still just bottomless gumbo in the middle. I eased through on the left side, as did most sane people. Two-Jeeps, of course, and Mikey B decided to play in the Mudhole a little. Always a price to pay, boys, will you never learn. Mud kills. Mike came out of the Mudhole lame in the right front, turned out to be a cracked axle.
Two-Jeeps should get a Bonehead Award for his damage. Racing down the mountain, he thought he’d clean Overkill at the same time by splashing through the puddles with enough force to splash Overkill clean. Well, he did, and he got enough water up to his intake to hydro-lock his engine and throw a rod through his oil pan. Overkill clattered back to Whitcomb Summit, kept running long enough to let everyone air up off Bob’s compressor and quietly died a gasping death on his trailer.
So by Sunday we were down to three trucks. Overkill was killed, blown motor; Mikey B. busted an axle; Thrasher had something wrong, and had to go back to Albany anyway; Marc and Lena were not planning on ‘wheeling the Tan Whale on Sunday anyway. That left Bulldog Acconi, Scoutmaster and Red, and me and Bark. We decided to go explore the area of Vt., just up over the border from North Adams. In several different conversations with various people and sessions with the DeLorme’s atlas, I identified an area very likely to be criss-crossed with trails, so off we went.
What a beautiful day we had. The further up into Vermont we went, the nicer the weather got. By the time we were off pavement and out in the woods, the sun was out and the temperature had grown positively balmy. After following a dirt road north for about two and a half miles with frequent stops to check out side trails, we headed off to the east. The trail was tight and winding, actually causing some squeezage problems for Bob and Red in Bob’s Scout. At one point Red suggested we call it the Maaco Trail for all the body work we were doing, with the help of the trees.
The trail wound up and down the hillside, though our general trend was upwards. I let Bulldog take the lead for his greater clearance as we crossed through unknown waterholes (and my naturally cautious nature . . . no, I’m not, well, a I am a little chicken). The forest floor was sodden and saturated from two days of hellacious rain, so there were a lot of puddles and mudholes. The trail had the consistency of 18 inches of chocolate pudding laid over hard-packed dirt, with a lot of big rocks sunk into the mud. We finally hit one small section of the trail where we all ended up pulling out cable to get over it. The trail dropped down into a hard left turn into a steep uphill. Near the crest of this hill two large rocks framed the trail, squeezing the trail between them. In order to clear this spot one needed some momentum coming up the hill. However, the tight left turn in two feet of muck at the bottom of the hill made it impossible to build any momentum to climb the hill. Bulldog tried plowing up the middle. I tried climbing the bank to the left of the trail, but the slick conditions just kept sliding me back down into the muck. Bob and Red had the same trouble.
At this point a group of six or seven trucks, including three nicely set up FJ-40’s, came up from behind and asked if they could get by us as they were in a little bit of a hurry to get out. We finished winching each other up over the hump in the trail and pulled off into the woods, to sit and watch this group winch each other up over the hump. The leader Wally later explained that they have come up on groups of ‘wheelers out there who were neither equipped nor experienced enough to be out there, though by the time we drove out of the woods, tailing along behind these guys, they recognized that we weren’t entirely bozos.
These guys were locals who had originally cut this trail, so finding them was a little bonus. They knew the trail well, and so we followed them on out, back to the dirt road that had led us up into the woods. This trail was quite the find, loads of fun. Scoutmaster Bob suggested we call it the Beaverpond Trail (at one point the trail winds between two rather large beaver ponds), and I have since been informed that what we found was the xxx Trail, though I do not think that is correct. We do know that there are several more good trails to discover up in this area of southern Vermont, and we will be back there in the near future.
Though we were kind of betrayed by the weather, it did help to make it a most interesting weekend. Continual rain and fog on the mountaintop, occasional break from it in the valley, and great trails with good camaraderie. And, we all know, there is no sweeter place to be than western Massachusetts in the autumn. So, now this is your Poobah saying, until next time, keep it rubber down and paint up, and drive safe!
