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RR- Post Flood Fair Hill
Those of you who live on the east coast have surely heard about the
massive flooding, especially in New York and Pennsylvania. Those of you on the west coast, well screw you and your predictably sunny summer weather and bluebird-sky pictures of vast mountains (just kidding, of course). Anyway, after what has been remarkable weather here in Delaware this spring (except for race days and Delaware Trailspinners events), we finally got what we deserve: the dreaded stationary front and five days of heavy thunderstorms. That left the local rivers in streams in full flood conditions and most local trails more like swamps; however, because the thunderstorm cells were highly localized, Fair Hill had somehow escaped the majority of the heavy rain. Reports from my inside sources, who had gone dark recently to escape the constant questions of "How are the trails ?" from lesser bikers, told me the trails were damp, with some muddy spots that would require hike-a-bike, but generally rideable without risking damage. But another nasty thunderstorm rolled through late Wednesday night/early Thursday morning and severe storms were predicted for Thursday afternoon. Conversations with most of the regular Thursday crowd indicated they were opting for road rides. Well, the hell with those wimpy yellow bracelet-wearing, blood-doped rider fans (for those of you who don't yet know, I suggest you consult one of the Tour de France-like websites), I was going to brave the dirt. Besides, I could not ride until after 1700 and the rain was predicted to come about 1900. Two hours does not a long road ride make. So it was that I pulled into the North Appleton lot for Fair Hill, the usual gathering point for the Thursday night Trailspinners ride and rag-a-thon. The young guys rag on the old guys for being slow while the old guys rag on the young guys for the constant crashing and perpetual nagging injuries. God forbid someone should be having an off night! All in good clean fun, though. We keep it mild and back off when someone is really down, hurting badly, or has a valid excuse ("Sorry I'm a bit slow today guys, the wife and I had sex late last night and I'm really knackered"). As I said, valid excuses. By the time the appointed departure time rolls around, only Ben and I are in the lot. Well, at least we'll leave on time for once. There was no sign of the impending thunderstorms, clouds were not even building, but we decided to stay pretty close to the lot for awhile and see what developed. Ben was riding his single-speed Fisher Rig, one of several choices for him, and I was riding the usual Fisher hardtail, mostly because it's the only bike I own. We took off down the cleverly named Barney's Trail (named after the builder, Barney, who is also our secret trail spy). Trails were tacky with a couple of muddy spots and it was obvious we would not be at race pace tonight (but then, I'm never at race pace). Just too iffy to go flying through a slick spot and lose control. So we settled in at a nice pace of about 7.5 MPH. Barney's Trail leads to Crappy Start (which was not, for us, the start) and three things were apparent by the time we reached the gravel road at the end of the Barney's/Crappy Start combo: 1) There were many downed trees, big trees, that would require Barney and his chain saw, 2) The small streams were back to low flow again and the stream crossings did not seem to change much from the local rains (looks like the trail crews are doing a good job on the crossings), and 3) There would be no t-storms during our ride - there was still no cloud build up. With no storms in view, we headed away from the parking lot into the "wilds" of Fair Hill. Horse Jump, oddly named because it is nowhere near any of the myriad of horse jumps actually located within Fair Hill, one of the lesser humpback bridges for which Fair Hill is famous, and a connector to the gravel road along Big Elk Creek. The Creek was still up slightly, but fairly clear and nowhere near the level it had been last Tuesday right after one of the bigger downpours of the rain event, as observed while driving by on the way home from work. Mud marks on the vegetation and bridge abutments showed just how high the water had been two days prior. Sometimes it sucks to be a trout, especially if you're one of those farm raised, transported wimpy trout they place into Big Elk Creek so locals, clad in their lovely Orvis outfits with their Orvis rods, can stand side by side at the best hole, throw some minnows, and land a lunker (just kidding trout fisherman, I actually love the activity myself, just in a purer sense). We crossed the creek, headed up the Yellow Trail to Crackhead Bob where more downed trees required some interesting maneuvering, and across the double track into 5 (err, I mean n-1) bridges. Still no sign of storms (and not much sign of other riders either), so we cruised on the doubletrack to yet another humpback bridge and followed the race course through the woods behind the stable area. This is a wonderful piece of mostly downhill single track through woods that has not been logged in a long time. Not virgin forest, mind you, but trees well over 100 years old. Along the asphalt road, past the stable area, over Route 273, and down the gravel double track of the orange trail. Through the worst mud of the day (yes, on the gravel doubletrack), then through some more woods and I-95 (no, not the interstate with cars, the single track trail named after it), continuing down the orange trail to Big Elk Creek again and the sunken bridge. Again, the former water height was obvious, as was a pretty large sand pile left in the wake of the flood. It was getting late, so we took the doubletrack back to the gravel road, then up the long hill to the cars. A fun ride, made much harder by the conditions. That 16.5 miles felt like 20, at least, and the speed was nothing to write home about, but at least we rode. TS |
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