Slaty Fork Enduro — the way it should be
How many folks do you know who look forward to crossing the Big Sandy River Bridge? I wasn’t one of them until recently. Yet, as soon as we round the last bend on the Kentucky side of I-64 my fingers start curling up. My pupils dilate. A primal yawp begins to form in my diaphragm. We’re heading into wild and wonderful West Virginia. That’s not just a pithy marketing slogan dreamed up in the conference room of a tourism office; it’s the damn truth.
Every trail I’ve ever set tires on in this state has been a physical and mental challenge from top to bottom (not to mention bottom to top). Every little part in the hills offers a picturesque view. Because of this, it’s not hard to understand why the grassroots West Virginia Enduro Series has the tight core of loyal and rowdy racers that it does. But Slaty Fork is different.
Slaty Fork Enduro, as described to me by the locals, is a 10-ish year old living monument to the true spirit of enduro. It starts as a party in the woods, just a few cranks away from the trailhead. If that sounds convenient, you’ve not ridden West Virginia. The first four stages take you 30-45 minutes away by shuttle. The last two stages take you to the same exact spot, but now your legs are shot and your grip is blown and you’re not even sure if you’re going to be able to hang on to your beer. Oh. . .did I mention we just finished the pre-ride? The real party is tonight, and tomorrow you’ve got to go fast. Like REALLY fast.
The stages are smartly planned. Stage 1 is short and deceptively simple. Just blast down these roots for a couple minutes. Easy enough for most of the locals who know the roots as the traction-bars between tea colored puddles and hot-fudge mud slicks.
Stage 2 switches roots for rocks and cranks up the speed. How’s your cornering skill? You’re going to need it if you want to time well against the others but you’re not exactly slowing down on this unless you take a spill.
Stage 3. . .you’re feeling confident, you’ve worked hard, have some fun on the loamy switchbacks. You’ve earned it after two transfers of world-class techy singletrack. And you know what? Here’s another one for ya.
Stage 4 is a long, fast, and steep section of trail with big drainage g-outs that will have you wishing you’d been doing wall-sits in preparation. It takes you to the lowest point in the race. Or should I say lowest point on the course? Your lowest point is likely to come after lunch, once you’ve shuttled up and started your “descent” from the top of Tea Creek Mountain.
“Descent” is in quotes there because of the sadistic nature of Stage 5. After a considerable climb on the transfer from the shuttle drop off you find yourself sitting next to the timing gate at the easy end of a quarter-mile long rock garden, seemingly imported from the dark side of the moon. Whatever style and line you take through the garden will be fine, just try to have fun with it. As long as you don’t break an ankle dabbing or going into CX mode the punchy climb at the end will make or break your time.
Now if you thought that wasn’t so bad, welcome to Stage 6. You’re really regretting your lack of wall-sitting and starting to wonder if grip training is going to become part of your repertoire. Your bike lurches under you as gravity accelerates it towards the biggest roots and tightest turns in the whole race. Or do they just feel that way because your brakes don’t seem to be helping? Either way, solid muscle memory of bike-body separation will get you to the bottom of the stage and courage will get you to the top of the leaderboard. Now you just have to ride more world class Poca Trails goodness back to camp to pick up your hardware!
YEWW!
The moon-like rock garden at the top of Tea Creek Mountain
This year, the rain held off until the podium ceremony. It was a warm affair despite the rain and cool mountain air, lending to the fact this race is a labor of love by a community of folks who have been riding, building, and advocating along each other for the better part of 30 years. I heard some fireside scuttlebut going into the weekend that this year’s turnout was less than anticipated. Weather this, COVID that. If you know about the amount of work and passion that goes into putting on races like this you know that anything less than a sell out is unfair to the people behind it. Is this a dying breed of race or simply lean numbers in tough times? What does the 2020 bike boom mean for grassroots races? What does it mean for the trailbuilders who put in months and years of work before the idea of a race is even on the table?