Thursday, January 01, 2004
White lightning
The area that surrounds Turkey Cock Mountain is more known for moonshine than mountain bikes
Dan Casey
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We'd rounded a bend on the dirt road and stopped before a rise up Turkey Cock Mountain. Soft and wet Franklin County red clay dug into our knobby tires, which launched little chunks of the mud into our faces. In level spots where it was smooth, the road was a perfect medium for animal tracks. And there they were, compact-disc-sized and right at our feet. The unmistakable imprints of a bear's paws.
Franklin County native Alvin Tosh kneels beside fresh bear tracks we found in the soft wet surface of a dirt road leading to Turkey Cock Mountain."She's about a medium-sized one," Alvin Tosh reckoned. That means around 200 pounds, roughly my size if I dropped 25. There were no small tracks nearby, which was some relief. I wanted to see my first Western Virginia bear, but not at the expense of also crossing paths with her cubs. Mamas get pretty paranoid with little ones nearby.
We looked around for a few minutes then headed up the hill, never to spy the bear on that afternoon. But we did catch her tracks here and there, a small thrill. December's cold nights must have slowed her blood, and the woods' wild critters had nearly picked the trails clean of this year's bumper acorn crop. With winter approaching, her food sources were almost gone. Soon, it would be time for her to turn in.
A raffle, a bike and voila!
We were an odd crew to be exploring Franklin County's storied and secretive woods. Six of us hailed from all over the United States: California, Louisiana, Arizona, Delaware, North Carolina and Maryland. Jobs had brought us to Roanoke and Western Virginia's mountains.
Alvin Tosh was the one who had brought us to Franklin County for some mountain biking. He's spent all of his 36 years there, most of it on an expansive family plot dotted with fishing ponds set in rolling green acres near the Henry County border.
It seems that Tosh won a volunteer fire department raffle recently, and decided to put his winnings on a mountain bike at East Coasters Cycling and Fitness. There he learned of a local cyclists' e-mail list service run by Kyle Inman, an ardent mountain biker from Roanoke who stages races up and down the Blue Ridge.
Tosh's invitation was shortly forthcoming. Inman, myself and Ian Webb, who'd sold Tosh the bike, took him up on the offer. Also game were engineer Jerome Guynn, physical therapists Stephanie Stroh and Steve Gilbert, and Richard Moon, a Roanoke schoolteacher.
Moonshine country
Threaded with dirt roads and trails, the backwoods of Franklin County have a national reputation, but not as prime mountain biking territory. Those unpaved roads through the hills and hollows have served illegal whiskey makers for generations. While moonshining has waned in other parts of the United States, it's alive and well in Franklin.
Any dispute over bragging rights for the moonshine capital of the United Stares probably was settled back in the mid 1980s. It seems some sharp federal agent hit upon the idea that moonshiners need sugar to cook up their witches' brew. He started digging into the sugar sales of a small farm supply store in Rocky Mount, the Franklin County seat.
What the agent found astonished him. Two homespun brothers who ran the tiny store had moved 16 million pounds of sugar in a three-year period. It worked out to a quarter ton of sweet white crystals for every man, woman and child in the county. That was enough to fuel the greatest epidemic of Attention Deficit Disorder the world has ever seen, or to make one hell of a lot of illegal corn whiskey. The feds concluded the latter, cementing Franklin's reputation.
Tosh says there is a spot on Turkey Cock Mountain where agents dynamited a still a few years back. But we didn't pass it on this ride. "There's still plastic milk jugs up in the trees," he said.
The ride
Tosh chose for our ride a 15-mile trek that started in a grassy field at his home and took us into and out of the 1,500-acre Turkey Cock Mountain Wildlife Management Area. The management area was once prime four-wheeler and dirt bike grounds. Motorized vehicles are now banned, but the trails and road remain. He has marked the route with pink ribbons tied to trees.
Dan Casey | The Roanoke Times
Franklin County native Alvin Tosh kneels beside fresh bear tracks we found in the soft wet surface of a dirt road leading to Turkey Cock Mountain.
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This bent figure-eight loop was hard, what with 1,700 vertical feet to stand on. We took dirt roads on climbs up three mountains: Little Mountain, Hickory Knob, then Turkey Cock Mountain. The hardest part was coming down Turkey Cock mountain on a rocky single-track that was covered in leaves. One of us only half-jokingly said it should be named The Bitch.
"It's a magical mixture of leaves, rolling rock, embedded rock -- and gravity," opined Inman, forever the cycling optimist.
"I was thinking, 'God, I'm glad we didn't have to ride up this,' " Webb chimed in.
The single-track led us to Virginia 619. We hung a left on the paved surface, went about 500 feet, and took another left onto a gravel road at the entrance to the Turkey Cock Mountain Wildlife Management Area. Then it was back up to the top of the mountain.
Fast and furious
All of this sweating, panting and swearing was about to be rewarded with a balls-out boneshaking downhill run. This dirt road coming off Turkey Cock mountain was like a narrow ski slope that never seemed to end. Steep, winding, and in parts badly rutted, it was nonetheless wide enough that you could let your brakes go a bit as long as you were paying close attention to what was up ahead.
It dumped us onto Virginia 652 and we took the pavement for a mile back to Tosh's house. We were beat, breathless, and a couple of us were probably a bit bruised. What it worth it? You bet.
Notes
This is a long ride with lots of challenging climbs. It took us about four hours. Be sure to pack plenty of water and something to eat. There's nowhere on the route to get food or drink.
Turkey Cock Wildlife Management Area is open to the public, and that includes hunters. It's pretty safe to ride there on Sundays, when hunting is banned, and out of season. But you should be vary wary of riding there on another day during hunting season. I'd strongly advise wearing blaze orange if you're going there Monday through Saturday.
Getting there
I'm reluctant to give you directions to Tosh's house so that he isn't overwhelmed with eager bikers who show up unannounced. So here are directions to the Turkey Cock Mountain Wildlife Management Area:
Take U.S. 220 South past Rocky Mount then a left on Virginia 619 (Sontag Road). Go about 10 miles, to where 619 seems to end at a T-intersection. Make a right on 895/619, which in a short distance becomes 619 again. Follow it over Turkeycock Mountain into Henry County, where you'll see the brown Turkey Cock Wildlife Management Area sign on the left side of the road at the Franklin County/Henry County line.
On the other hand, Alvin's a friendly guy who's eager to show other bikers the splendors of this area. If you're game for a jaunt guided by him, shoot him an e-mail and he'll get back to you.
