Appalachian Hell Ride
Just last week in Roanoke County, an illustrious yet underground, unsupported, and virtually unknown, no-spectators-allowed race occurred for the sixth year running, the Appalachian Hell Ride (AHR), and for whatever stupid reason and/or mistake Out of True (OOT) was honored with an invite to participate and report.
Twenty four racers from seven countries and three continents were invited by the AHR governing board based on their iffy reputations and fab fitness/cyclopathy. The ride started at a undisclosable bit of private land that some idiot forbearer christened Snail Hollow in Roanoke County, Virginia (Out of True’s resident naturalist found no snails native to that place nor in attendance).
The riders started down Timberview Road and soon entered Carvins Cove Natural Preserve, where they mashed up Trough and then bumped down Royalty before humping the dreaded, sloggy and rutted powerline cut back off Timberview to Green Ridge Trail, which they hammered back to Snail Hollow.
At Snail Hollow, the riders dismounted and had to plink each with an air rifle three targets (beer cans hanging from trees) at distances of 37.5, 73.1, and 48 yards, respectively, after which they had to hit 20, 19, 18, & bullseye on a dartboard by tossing some cheap, garish darts. There were judges, lineswomen and men, playing very, very well the roles of rule-keeper, scrutinizer, heckler, consoler, mocker, and flatulater, all at once.
Next, the Lycraed darlings, our mighty riders, had to catch a tossed hatchet (all but one unlucky rider, this one — there’s blood dripping even now on my keyboard — caught them by the handle unscathed), and then had to turn and throw it from nineteen (19) feet to stick in a white oak trunk affixed to which were photos of various contemporary world leaders. For some riders, these activities were a real test and took many, many attempts, especially for the lead rider coming into this stage, Peckerwood Freeman (Australia) and Out of True’s rider/reporter, yours truly, aka Cornpone Manuva (Gondwanaland), who had been up to that point right on Peckerwood’s wheel.
For others, like Sue Miebolzoff (Bosnia), Ne-Cho Mi Ma (China), and Muscils Ofduum (South Africa), this was a real chance to shine! Despite last minute but rigorous training in the impalement arts before the race, OOT’s rider, yours truly, aka Cornpone Manuva, fell just behind the middle of the pack after this stage.
Riders then each had to work two braids into the fake hair of some seriously creepy dolls before grinding a rusty, six inch length of former leaf spring (from a junked truck) into a blade sharp enough to clean and carve a pumpkin. After carving their pumpkins, riders had to stick three arrows with a bow from 20 yards into those selfsame pumpkins. Out of True found this part of the race a bit too clever, frankly (additionally, Cornpone performed as though he cared so few shits about this stage that he is no longer, not one bit, part of Team OOT, though we’re running his report, this report, which at his forced resignation/departure he dearly begged — ha, ha — for us to pull from publication or to give him another week, unpaid, to edit).
The riders then with their newly fashioned knives had to give themselves the most ridiculous haircuts they could muster (the judges, renowned stylists all, were real sticklers on this) before donning helmets and mounting bikes again to roll down Timberview to Hanging Rock, where they climbed Hinchee Trail, rolled north to drop Gauntlet, at the bottom of which they had to ride to the lake’s edge and without dismounting their bikes, send three stones with a wrist rocket to hit a floating aluminum box moored sixty (60) feet offshore. Ah, the sound of those stones hitting the box was really something (to his credit, Cornpone was a real crackpot with that wrist rocket).
Riders then finessed Lakeside to Hemlock to Araminta to huff up Jacobs Drop and Brushy Mt. and back out to Hinchee down into Hanging Rock, where they had to tag their first name in bubble letter mode and in at least three colors to the underside of the bridge over Masons Creek with provided cans of spraypaint and the rueful eye of local paint phenom E1, the judge, who determined when each rider’s work had been crafted with enough aesthetic zest, at which time E1 marked the task completed.
Paint on fingers, aerosol in the lungs, riders remounted once more and rode down the Greenway to Parkway Brewery, where they had to slam three Get Bents and then hawk from six point two (6.2) feet at least a snooter of dip spit (Copenhagen) into a antique spittoon (same spittoon, incidentally, that once sat at the brogan-clad feet of “The Great Dissenter”, John Marshall Harlan, when the Kentuckian served as supreme court justice from 1877-1911). Spit spat, beers burped, they then rode by the fastest route of their choosing into Roanoke to finish at the Star Overlook on Mill Mountain.
It was a near-perfect day for the 64ish mile event, a bluebird day, no, but a dirty ass grackle day, 45 degrees cold, rain, and gusty winds. There were no exciting injuries, but there were plenty of close calls. Results here—
Fastest Time Winners: Crank E. Phoughckenfeis (Austria-Team Canyon) Trixibelle Knoeverslouch (Argentina-Team Trek) Best Kit: Schlenquee Katsoot (France-Team Yves Saint Laurent) N. Seign Klouwn (Belgium-Team Merckx) Slowest Time Winners: Michele “Mick” Anicalseuk (Malaysia-Team Specialized) Rex Hurt (Virginia-Team Beer Nuts)