How many times have you wondered where a road leads? Perhaps you were out riding in the woods and spotted a trail out of the corner of your eye, the thought of what could possibly be down there immediately enters your mind. Countless times has this happened for me, nearly every time I ride off-road.
Yet very rarely have I ever actually ventured down one of these mystery roads.
This was the case for my friend Ian Sutton. He had spotted one such trail while off in the woods one day. There was something about it that caught his eye and stuck with him. The location of the entrance and where it could possibly lead offered a beckoning adventure. When Sutton returned home from riding that day, he hopped on some satellite imagery maps to see if he could locate what he had seen.
Quickly he spotted some sort of spur off the main trail, continuing further into the woods. It soon disappeared, but with a careful eye you could see hints of a clearing through the tree canopy. Sutton began dropping dots on every point or section he could see, eventually giving him a rough outline of a trail, almost like “connect the dots.” The terrain was unable to be determined from above, everything about it was a mystery. The only way to know was to go back and see for ourselves.
I am not necessarily a “thrill-seeker” on motorcycles. I don’t own any fast bikes. I don’t enjoy competitive racing, or super technical terrain. I remain within my limits, but once in a while, a yearning for an adventure ride will usually provide the fix I need.
Often my parameters for an adventure involve an old bike, no pavement, and some tools. Nothing beats a simple machine out in the woods. It’s a pure connection with you and the environment. And yeah, sometimes things break, but we’ve got what we need for a fix. Who doesn’t love turning a wrench, especially on the side of the trail. You’ve got your friends there to help offer assistance or to crack a joke at your expense. They say it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong and I agree.
So back to Sutton and this trail he had seen. He called it the “mystery loop.” And while it wasn’t visible on every map, some older versions of GPS showed a faint line, nearly resembling a full circle. It was unknown where this route went, how diffcult it was or if it even was a trail. There was some semblance of a possibility of an adventure, so we prepared for one.
This would be a good point in the story where I suggest not to try something like this for yourselves. Or maybe this is exactly the kind of thing that excites you.
There are probably a handful of things we would do differently, mainly being not doing something like this again. What follows is a tale of the time we adventured a little too adventurously.
Thumpers away
One morning, Sutton, Gus Darnell and I met up on some trails in North Georgia. Our weapons of choice were of course vintage, big-bore thumpers. I was on my 1981 Honda XL500, Gus and Sutton on their late ‘70s Yamaha XT500s. In addition to the usual pack of tools and spares we carry, one new item in our kit was a small, gas-powered chainsaw. Sutton custom fabricated a mount into the rack on his bike specifically for the occasion. The only thing that we knew for certain was that we had no clue what lay ahead of us.
The trail entrance was overgrown, so we assumed the entire thing could be as well. We wanted to be fully prepared, and how much more prepared could you be than a chainsaw? As a backup plan, we were also relying on the fact that we could always just turn around if things got too out of hand. Or so we thought…
It was late in the morning and cold when we geared up and headed for the trailhead. It being winter, our daylight was shorter, but we still were confident to be home for dinner. Because we had just dropped some points on a map, it was hard to tell what the actual mileage was going to be, but our best guess was around 5 miles.
From the start we could tell that at one point this indeed used to be a trail, of sorts. Whether it be vehicle or foot, we were unsure. But it clearly had been many years since it had last seen any traffic. It was peak fall season, so the entire ground was covered in leaves. Even in front of us the exact route of the trail was hard to determine, the sea of leaves really provided no clues.
The consensus was the trail was heading up the mountain, with few other ways to really go. The three of us had confidence from the start, it seemed like we were making decent time and good progress amongst some of the beginning obstacles. The trail ran next to a creek and was either washed out in many sections, or super muddy. It took a little time get used to the slippery terrain and what to expect, but we kept moving. Overgrown brush and trees were plentiful, but nothing yet required sawing, though we did get off our bikes a handful of times to move some things.
At times, the trail would become so tight or crowded with obstacles, it made the most sense to ride single file, slightly ahead or behind each other. We had limited sight distance, so protocol was to allow space and wait for each other at each new hurdle. We did a good job of keeping an eye on each other, our heads were on swivels making sure one another made it through each ravine or over every log.
While it was minor, one of our first incidents was Darnell taking a bit of a spill. I turned my head to see him approaching, looked away for a second, and then turned back to see he had completely disappeared. There was a downed tree across the trail, but it was still able to be ridden over. Darnell successfully popped his front wheel over, but the rear remained on the other side, causing him to come down and the bike to slide sideways, now heading off the side of trail and straight into the creek below. He was lucky to be OK, having hopped off in time, but the bike kept going down just before being caught in the thick of the branches right at the water’s edge.
I rushed back to find him unharmed but looking down at his bike. We had a quick laugh and caught our breath. It took two of us to pull his XT500 back up onto the trail, but we managed. Sutton was ahead of us this entire time, probably stopped at the next corner, wondering when we’d come around. Eventually he turned back to find us on our bikes and ready to continue riding. While we brushed off the crash, it was a good reminder to be extra careful, as we really didn’t know what was ahead.
Break out the chainsaw
Soon, our trail became much more di ffi cult. We were met with more downed trees, these bigger than any previous. But we were expecting such with the preparation of our chainsaw. For some of the logs, we could hop o ff the trail and find a way around, but for most, we had to cut.
We quickly realized there was an issue with our chainsaw. The primer bulb on the saw had a small crack in it, so instead of pushing fuel into the carburetor, it would just leak out. This made it incredibly hard to start. We were becoming just as winded from trying to use it, as we were from riding.
For future obstacles we encountered, it then became a question of whether it was worth it to try and start the chainsaw, or if it made more sense to try and ride through it somehow on the bikes. The question of turning around may have also come up, but at this point we still felt confident enough to continue.
We crossed rivers, got stuck in mud, went over or under trees we couldn’t cut. We were all on big-bore, single 500cc machines. That were vintage. And kickstart only. The longer we rode, the more winded we got and the harder the bikes became to start. Both because of exhaustion and overheating. We dropped the bikes to avoid crashing and we hit trees and took spills that we couldn’t avoid.
Three hours later, we were only three miles into our route. When we realized this, it was a bit shocking, and reality started to sink in. We were tired, we were losing daylight, and we had much more to go. And we still didn’t know what was ahead of us. When we thought about it, a lot of our time was spent dealing with obstacles and the time sucks just added up. We were in the mountains, constantly changing direction and elevations.
Though it was still early afternoon, the sunlight was becoming blocked by the edges of surrounding peaks. Shadows became hard to differentiate from holes or rocks. We had to be extra cautions to avoid hazards or hurting ourselves. It was around this point where we all sort of became curious of how much farther.
And it was really hard to actually tell. We could guess, but it didn’t matter. God forbid something happened that would’ve required an emergency exit. There was truly no easy way in or out. We couldn’t ignore this, so we kept our heads down and proceeded as safely as we could.
We had been climbing all day, but near the halfway point, there was a grade steeper than anything we had come across yet. Of course, it was covered in leaves and plenty of big trees were blocking our path. If we went off course to avoid them, we figured the bikes could handle some cross-country navigating.
We rode diligently, picking good lines and helping each other with a push or pull. There became a point toward the top where the only option was to keep momentum and crest the ridge. Darnell and I were having success making it up, but Sutton wasn’t as lucky. He took a spill while trying to go around some trees and ended up stuck under his bike.
We rushed over to help free him. He was fine, just temporarily pinned. When picking up his bike we noticed the broken clutch lever and broken perch. Sutton had a spare lever, but he did not have a replacement perch. Surprisingly, Darnell did, and perfect being they were both on XT500s. While we may have been able to think of a solution, this ended up being a decently quick fix. We all brushed it off, again lucky to be alright, but now even more desperate to get out of the woods.
According to our GPS, we gained 1,500 feet of elevation throughout the course of the trail, and this was our highest point. As soon as we came over the top of the steep ridge, there became no visible trail down, just the side of a mountain covered in leaves, rows of trees standing in nearly every direction. It was steep. Steeper than what we had just climbed. And slippery. There wasn’t a great place to really stop, the best idea was to slowly make our way down.
I was in first, clutch was fully out, and gently riding the brakes to keep me moving, but as to not lock up either wheel. This was the point of no return. There was no way we’d be able to make it back up this grade. We hadn’t considered that a possibility at any point. We now had no choice but to continue onward to make our way out. We continued sliding down the edge of this mountain until we found some flatter land. We looked around and realized all of us had each taken a slightly different path downward. While we were able to quickly breathe a sigh of relief that we were back on level ground, we next realized there still wasn’t an obvious way to go. It’s not that we disagreed on where we thought was correct, it almost seemed like any direction could be the right way.
Dismount and reconnoiter
We decided to get off bike and explore a little on foot. Maybe while walking, something would become more obvious. We looked around a bit and all decided on how to proceed next. The silver living was that at least now we were descending the mountain, ideally back toward a main road. Our entire day thus far was uphill, so now in our minds this was a sort of milestone. It was now 4:30 p.m. and getting darker quicker and quicker.
The three of us all have a handful of adventures together under our belts. From Utah to Colorado, even down in Mexico, we’ve ridden hot deserts to frigid rains together. We’ve experienced a lot of interesting situations while riding and are lucky to have managed them all. I don’t think any of us were expecting to ride in the dark on this trip. Honestly, we packed minimal food, drink, and luggage because we really didn’t imagine it playing out like this. There have been very few times on a motorcycle when I’ve felt scared or out of my comfort zone. This was approaching that territory. We had strength in numbers and experience though, so we all remained calm and rode onward.
An hour later, it was dusk and soon to be pitch black. We checked the map for any offerings. There was no point. We knew we were more than halfway, but that was all we knew. If we were exhausted earlier, we were beyond exhaustion now.
The part of the mountain we were descending sort of resembled a valley or gorge. It was steep on both sides, and carved out in the middle, most likely eroded by water flow over time. We assumed that this would eventually lead us in the right direction, as again, it really was the only direction.
Just as night fell, we were back on something we felt confident was a “trail.” Again, a sigh of relief, quickly met with another obstacle. The obstacle being more downed trees. We almost couldn’t believe it, but our determination to get off the trail was turning to adrenaline. We nearly had a routine at this point.
Sutton’s XT500 was equipped with aftermarket lights that were quite bright. He would aim his bike in the direction of the tree and one of us would hop off his bike, grab the chainsaw, and cut whatever was in the way. Sutton would let his bike idle while we were clearing the path, but that would quickly overheat the XT, because of how often we were doing this. The lights could run off the battery alone but would quickly dim as the battery drained. We had to be very particular about when and how we used what little light we had. We were still dealing with a hard to start chainsaw, so half of the obstacles we encountered, we chose to ride through, over, under, or around, as that seemed like the easier choice.
Darkness envelops us
By now, it was dark as could be. We had been in the woods for seven hours and traveled maybe four miles. Barely any moonlight or stars were visible through the thick of the trees. It was also cold, but we were so busy focusing on everything else, we hardly realized. But now it was cold-cold, and there was no ignoring it. I’m still un-sure of what this route used to be. Parts made sense as an old road or double track, but we were now on nothing more than a hiking trail. The way we were climbing down the mountain was so technical, it’s hard to imagine anything traversing this. Maybe horses?
We eventually came around a turn to the other side of the mountain and couldn’t believe our eyes. Lights in the distance — the far distance — still. Our first positive sign of being close to civilization. We kept dropping in elevation, and more faint lights from far off farms became visible. We knew that we were heading toward one final river crossing, which was set to be one of the last obstacles of the trip. I swore I could hear it, the closer we got, even over the roar of our engines.
Have you ever done a river crossing in pitch black before? Sure, I had a six-volt headlight that was technically working, but amidst all the chaos, it was merely a flashlight. I remember pulling up to the river’s edge. I couldn’t believe we had made it. And again, the three of us had wound up on completely different paths, but more-or-less in the same area. We all cheered with excitement. I barely hesitated before blasting through the frigid water. Typically, one would try and choose a line or avoid obstacles but getting across quickly mattered more. It almost helped that I couldn’t see, no distractions, I was focused on making it through. It was flowing quick and nearly up to our knees while standing on the pegs.
We all successfully made it across, wet and even colder, but the adrenaline and thought of being so close to the finish outweighed it all. We had just a few hundred yards to go before meeting up with the main road to take us home. The last bits of the trail were just the same as it was from the start. The ground covered in leaves and a smattering of trees, just guessing which zig-zag of a route would be the best way. And then there it was. We had made it. The biggest sigh of relief with no more obstacles to follow, only a cold ride back to our trucks.
We were on this “trail” for nine hours — nine long hours. According to our GPS, we traveled 5.8 miles. That’s a new record for us. One I hope we don’t ever beat.
